


Cloud Watching

by cave_leporem



Series: walking like a man (hitting like a hammer) [2]
Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: (and eventually little sister Gracia), Explicit Language, F/M, Family Fluff, General fluff, Rule 63, always-a-girl Dani Pedrosa, and introducing Susana Marquez i Pedrosa, i'm (not) sorry, probably should have added that one earlier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:11:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2083299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cave_leporem/pseuds/cave_leporem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets and extras from 'Write It on the Sky', my headcanon where Dani Pedrosa was born a girl and Marc Marquez is hopelessly in love with her (and eventually makes her realise she's in love with him, too).</p><p>Chapter six: 'Some of the press have had... interesting interviews with Daniela Pedrosa, to say the least.' The start of the aforementioned 'Ice Queen' legend.<br/>Chapter seven: 'Amendment 2: Conversations about data are not to be used as a euphemism.' (Or, the story of how Marc got tarred with an unfair brush.)<br/>Chapter eight: Courting a Marquez i Pedrosa spawn: a How To guide.<br/>Chapter nine: 'There's never been any reason/ for you to think about me.' Snippets from the 2013 season, aka fun times with pining!Marc and oblivious!Dani.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sympathy For The Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one: Introducing their daughter, and Dani gets a new perspective on her own mother now she's seeing the mother-daughter bond from the other side.
> 
> I don't know what Dani's mother's surname/full name actually is; with Spanish naming conventions I figure it's not actually 'Basi Pedrosa' but I had to tag her somehow. (Stalking only got me so far.)
> 
> Then again, none of this is real. So... 
> 
> Series title from Roxette's 'She's Got the Look', because for a rule 63 AU, what else was it going to be? :D
> 
> This is a work of fiction; no offence is meant to any of the people mentioned.
> 
> Enjoi.

Dani _screams_. None of her extensive injuries have ever _hurt this much_.

Marc wisely doesn’t tell her to stop swearing, even though he fears for his child’s first words.

The midwife politely asks him to leave half-way through her labour. Dani’s grip threatens to break the bones in his hand, and less politely, she tells the woman where she can shove any ideas of Marc leaving her during the experience.

It’s his fault, after all. If he can’t share the pain, he’s damn well getting an earful.

Four mind-numbingly painful hours later, Susana Marquez i Pedrosa is born into the world.

“She’s got your eyes,” the exhausted, newly-made mother moans. “She’s going to be a bloody nightmare growing up.”

“She’s going to be exactly like her mum, then,” the ecstatic, newly-made father replies. “God, she’s so _tiny_ and _pretty_ and _perfect_! I love her already; I love you Dani, I love both of you so _much_ right now!”

Dani’s response is about as enthusiastic as can reasonably be expected. “Sssh. Sleeping.”

“Sorry!”                   

-*-                             

“Look at her! Who’s a pretty little girl? You are! You’re just like your grandmother, you pretty little thing!”

Dani rolls her eyes. “At least wait until she can understand you before you start up the new rivalries.”

It has to be a coincidence, but as Basi hands Susana back, she starts crying. “She knows exactly what I’m saying,” the woman says smugly.

Dani’s sure Susana inherited her flair from Marc. _She_ ’s never been so dramatic.

-*-

There’s a moment of disorientation before Basi realises it’s the phone that’s woken her up.

“Hello?” She mumbles into the receiver.

“Mum! Thank God. Susana’s got a fever, she can’t sleep, she won’t stop crying and the doctor’s told me to wait it out to see if it breaks on its own but _I can’t just sit here watching my baby cry_ and _what can I do_?”

“Cool milk,” she replies groggily. “And hold her. Skin contact is best. Read to her. Try to distract her. You’re going to be awake anyway.”

“That’s _it_?”

“Listen to your doctor. You had fevers at that age, too. Most babies do. See them again if it doesn’t break within 24 hours.”

“Nothing else?!”             

Basi feels _years_ of karma swinging back to her when she hangs up the phone.

Her husband cracks open an eye as she settles back into bed. “Baby drama?” He mutters, more a statement than a question.

“I thought the point of being a _grand_ mother was that you didn’t get woken up at all hours of the night,” she grumbles, already falling back to sleep.

-*-

Susana visits her first MotoGP when she is five months old. Marc’s team have a present for them: a baby onesie done up like Dani’s leathers used to be.

Marc is thrilled. He insists on changing Susana into it then and there. “She looks just like you!” He croons at the baby, who yawns and decides exhaust notes are a fantastic lullaby, as she goes to sleep amidst the bikes revving up along pit lane.

“I’d be slightly worried if she looked like another woman,” Dani replies tartly. Marc gives her his best wounded expression, and she softens like ice cream in hell. “Fine, she’s very cute.”

“She looks so good in orange!”

If Marc had his way, every one of Susana’s bodysuits would be an advert. He already wants to get her sponsorship deals. Dani has put her foot down, and stated that Susana won’t go _near_ a motorbike until she’s at least four years old, and only then if she asks to do it.

She’s beginning to grasp what her mother went through with her, all those years ago.

-*-

Marc presses the ignition button, and the engine kicks in with a low rumble.

“Is that a _minibike_ in the garden? Marc Marquez! _I’m going to kill you_!”

Marc looks at his daughter. His daughter, all of three years old, grins back at him.

“Got your helmet?” He checks, the safety precautions only delaying the inevitable of Dani finding him (and killing him).

She nods solemnly, sliding the open-face headgear over her pigtails and securing the strap like he taught her.

(He still checks it, tugging firmly.)

“Let’s go!”                       

He lifts her onto the seat and shows her how to ease the throttle open, and let the clutch out slowly so it doesn’t stall.

Dani bursts out of the back door and glares at him. “ _What_ do you think you’re doing?”

“She begged me, Dani! And look at her; she’s a natural.”

Dani has a _lot_ more sympathy for her own mother these days than she ever did in her twenties. But then she looks at Susana, who is indeed using her begging face- lip wobbling, eyes so much like her father’s threatening to fill with tears, and her resolve crumbles.

“If you ever do this behind my back again-”

They spoil her downright rotten sometimes, she knows. But Marc’s determined that his daughter will outshine even her mother, and be the first woman to win a MotoGP world championship.

“You’ll kill daddy?” Susana pipes up eagerly.

Dani is pleased to encourage this attitude from an early age. “ _Exactly_.”

Marc gulps.

-*-

“How did dad survive my childhood?”

Dani is under no illusions as to where her bloodthirsty nature comes from.

Her mother gives her a half-amused, half-speculative look. “It’s not as easy from the other side, is it?”

“Marc bought her a minibike. Without telling me. The first I hear of it- _literally-_ was when he put her on it in the back garden.”

“Because I have _no_ idea what that feels like. Your father did much the same, though he at least had the nonce to wait ‘til I was out to try you on it.”

They roll their eyes in tandem.

“I think he called it ‘our little secret’,” Dani vaguely remembers her dad winking at her then.

Her mother is the one winking at her now. “And that’s man’s greatest failing- imagining he can keep _secrets_ from his wife.” Her mother smirks. “Did you threaten to kill Marc again?”

“Of course.”               

“That was my reaction too, if I remember correctly.”

Dani is honestly amazed. “How do these men survive?”

Basi sighs, and puts one hand over her daughter’s. “Because their instincts kick in, and trick one of us into falling in love with them before we rack up enough righteous fury to ever _actually_ kill them.”

“Fucking love,” Dani summarises.

Her mother laughs. “Exactly, though I was trying to be more delicate about it.”

-*-                          

“Why don’t I have a sister?” Susana asks, just after she turns four.

Dani chokes on her cereal.

“Or a brother. Why don’t I have a brother?”

She coughs to restore her airway, and glares as Marc enters the kitchen too late to help her answer the question. “It’s- a lot of things, Susa,” she explains to the girl, flashing Marc a wicked smirk when Susana’s looking the other way. “But the big part is that your father isn’t doing his job properly.”

“Somebody hasn’t had their third morning coffee!” Marc loudly interjects, forestalling any more awkward questions. Under the guise of a morning kiss, he mutters at her, “And that’s _not_ what you said last night.”

“Insecure, dear?” She mutters back.

“Susa!” Marc turns to the female who hasn’t learnt to pick on him, yet. “Your mum and I were wondering if you wanted to stay with Grandma Roser for a bit of the holidays?”

She’s _definitely_ her mother’s daughter, because Susana looks suspicious in a way no four year old should, before beaming at them. “I get to go to Spain? Yay! Can I see Grandma Basi as well?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, but runs from the room to pack a bag that Dani will empty and repack herself in an hour’s time.

Dani kicks Marc’s ankle under the table. “We’ve wondered no such thing! We can’t just hand her off like an unwanted pet!” She whispers furiously at him.

“They love having her around,” he whispers back. “And you heard the little lady- she wants a sibling.”

He winks at her, and even after all the years, he can make her blush with just a _look_.

-*-                                                                          

Marc takes Susana out to the car, leaving the two women to say goodbye. Basi smirks.

Dani narrows her eyes, and fails to bite back a yawn.

“I thought the point of sending a child to her grandparents was to let the parents catch up on their rest?” The look on her mother’s face can only be described as _wicked_.

“It’s Susa’s fault,” Dani grouches. “She asked me why she didn’t have a sibling. Marc heard.”

Basi pats her on the back, but is entirely unsympathetic. “I’m sure you complained about every minute of sleep he didn’t let you have.” 

Dani has no ready response to her mother implying Things About Her Sex Life.

“You never have been a morning person,” Basi adds, enjoying every twitch of awkwardness her daughter tries to hide. “Did you say you had a headache?”

“Considering she rolled us over and pinned me to the bed first, it wasn’t overly convincing.”

Marc has returned from the car.

Basi drops her smirk.

Dani _squeaks_.

Her husband grins, and leans in to kiss Basi on the cheek. “Thanks for having her again.”

Basi has recovered admirably. She coughs into her hand, but Dani knows she’s doing it to hide a laugh at her expense. “If I don’t see you again, I’ll remember you fondly.”

Marc furrows his brow. “What?”

Basi nods at her daughter. “You don’t think she’s going to kill you for that?”

Marc stares at his wife, confused. “That is not the most outrageous thing you have ever heard me say.” He cocks his head. “I’m not even sure it makes the top five.”

With great effort, Dani re-discovers her voice. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she says it in an undertone; she can't decide if she wants him to hear it or not.

Her mother isn’t even trying to hide her laughter anymore. “Take it as a compliment,” she says gaily. “He’s definitely still attracted to you!”

Marc puts a hand on his heart, and widens his eyes. “My loyalty will never waver.”

“Get in the damn car,” Dani gives him a light shove in the right direction. “I’ll talk to you soon, mum,” she tosses over her shoulder.

“Next time, leave Marc with us as well!” Basi calls back. “You’ll get some sleep back yet!”

Dani hums thoughtfully.

Marc worries. “You aren’t thinking about it, are you?”

She turns to him, eyes guileless. “ _Sleep_ , Marc. That beautiful, _mythical_ thing I only vaguely remember.”

He _thinks_ she’s joking, but there’s the slightest room for doubt. “So the next time we have a week to ourselves, you want to spend it _sleeping_?”

Dani smiles, and closes her eyes. “Blissful thinking.”

Marc’s whine is only broken when the car door opens, and Susana starts chatting about how great a time she had, and she really should see her grandmas and grandpas more often, don’t you agree, mum, dad?

Marc starts the car grumpily. “I’m not so sure, Susa,” he grumbles. “Apparently your mum doesn’t like so much time with only me for company.”

“But that’s not what Grandma Basi said!”

The car jerks to a stop as Marc stalls it.

Dani looks at him incredulously (he sheepishly restarts the engine), then their daughter. “What did Grandma Basi say, Susa?” she asks sweetly, plotting murder behind her eyes.

“I heard her telling grandpa, ‘If Daniela isn’t ab-so-lut-ly-dead-on-feet when they get here, I’ll a- apol-ogise for everything I’ve said to her.’” Susana scrunches up her nose; an unfortunate habit picked up from her father. “Why’s she smiling if she wants to say sorry?”

Dani groans, grateful her daughter’s innocence is still intact. “Because your grandma Basi is the Devil, Susa, or at the very least, a high-ranking minion.”

Susana frowns. “Dad, what’s a minion?” She pauses, and thinks of a better question. “What’s a devil?”

Marc smiles over his shoulder. “You’ve seen your mum in the mornings, right?” When Susa nods, he continues. “That’s a type of devil- somebody who isn’t very nice for no good reason.”

Dani whacks him.

Susana gasps, like it all makes sense. “Like that!” She points at her father’s arm. “That wasn’t very nice, and it has no reason.”

“It had great reason,” Dani mutters, under Marc’s “ _Exactly_ , Susa!”

“But Grandma Basi’s always nice,” Susana wonders, “So how can you call her a devil?”

Dani puts the edge of finality into her words. “You’re my daughter Susana; trust me, you’ll understand when you’re older.”

Susana whines at the non-answer, and Dani feels unsettled about the pang of something very like _sympathy_ she is feeling for the woman in question, if Dani was indeed anything like Susana growing up.

-*-

The moment Dani starts taking more hugs and kisses, insisting on the little gestures of affection that she normally doesn’t notice, he insists she gets a test.

She hasn’t got the nausea yet, but he can tell.

-*-           

“He already knew, the smug little bastard,” Dani moans down the phone. “How did he _know_?”

Basi isn’t surprised, per say, by the lack of greeting, but she usually has more to go on than this. “Know what?”

“Susa’s going to be an older sister.”        

“Congratulations!” Basi is immediately diverted by indescribable _joy_. “How far along are you?”

“Six weeks,” her daughter grumbles. “How did he _know_? _I_ didn’t know!”

Basi sighs in exasperation, and puts aside her happiness for a later date, when Dani is in the proper mood to celebrate. “You _do_ have a track record here, Daniela,” she points out.

“…Pardon?” Dani doesn’t get it.

“Aren’t you usually the last one to know?” Basi asks lightly.

There’s a growl, then a click as the call disconnects.

Basi smiles. She’s going to be a grandmother again!

-*-

Gracia Marquez i Pedrosa is brought into the world much in the same way as her older sister- that is, with a cowed midwife and a mother swearing enough to shame a sailor.

-*-

Susana wrinkles up her nose as she delivers the verdict. “I don’t like it,” she says. “Can you send it back and get a new one?”

“I don’t like _her_ ,” Dani corrects Susa’s grammar, if nothing else.

“How can you say that?” Marc, holding the family’s most recent addition, has one of the sadder looks Dani’s seen on his face. “She’s beautiful!”

Susana pouts, and Dani attempts to head off the oncoming tantrum. “He said exactly the same thing about you when you were a baby.”

“But I don’t know that!” Susa protests. “I know he said it about- _her_.”

Susana’s a quick learner, to Dani’s relief.

Marc carefully adjusts Gracia securely in one arm, and holds the other out to his eldest. She pouts for a moment longer, then runs into the offered hug.

“You’re both my beautiful girls,” Marc assures her. “And what you need to know is that Gracia is going to take a bit of time to catch up to you, Susa. And you’ll feel even prettier if you watch her grow up, and help her when she needs you to.”

“I will?” Susana asks in a small voice. Her eyes, so like her father’s, seek his out to gauge the sincerity in them.

“I promise,” Marc solemnly tells her, and just when Dani thought she couldn’t love this man any more, he goes and does something ridiculously sweet like this. He has the experience of being an older sibling, Dani remembers suddenly.

_Of course he knows exactly what to say._

Dani smiles. _When it’s important, he always does._

-*-                                                                                

Basi coos over Gracia as much as she did over Susana.

“I think you’re happier about this than Marc and me,” Dani states from the opposite couch.

Basi gives her a serious look, one that pre-empts meaningful words Dani doesn’t want to hear, normally on account of having no good replies to them. “She- _they-_ are living proof of everything I ever wanted for you- you’re loved, and you’re happy about it.”

They sit in silence only broken by Gracia’s baby mumbling while Dani digests the words. It’s like swallowing something you can’t quite decide if you enjoy eating, or want to spit straight back out.

But then, she only wants the same for her own children. Whatever Susana and Gracia decide to do, Dani will support them as far as she is able in order to make them happy. Marc will do no less.

She wants her daughters to be as happy as she is.

It really is sympathy curling in the pit of her stomach; Dani finally understands why her mother has driven her so far up the wall for most of her adult life- they wanted the same thing for her, even if their ideas about how to get it were slightly different.

(Dani was always happy with her racing- she loved it, still loves it when she takes one of her bikes on a reckless ride through the Swiss countryside with Marc alongside her on his own machine.

But- that’s it, right there. She’s the happiest she’s ever been with _him_ ; maybe her mother wasn’t as wrong as Dani thought she was for so long.)

“Thanks, mum,” Dani says softly, taking the words in the spirit they were given.

Her mother, of course, ruins the moment by smirking. “And of course, the grandmother can revel in cuteness and then give the baby back when something not-so-cute occurs.” She gives Gracia a discreet sniff, and holds her out. “Like now, for example.”

Dani takes Gracia back. She needs changing.

_Sympathy for the_ devil, Dani decides.

“Thanks, mum,” Dani says again, this time far more wryly.

Basi smiles. “You’re welcome.”


	2. Breaking News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -except, it really, really isn't.
> 
> Five times somebody realised Marc liked Dani, and the first time Marc thought she might like him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh, I love a 5+1 fic. This is pre 'Written...'. 
> 
> More fluff (I have only two modes as a writer, it seems- unholy levels of fluff or soul-destroying angst). 
> 
> Enjoi.

_Alex Marquez (1)_

Alex scrunches up his nose as he takes in his teenaged brother’s new décor. “Why do you have a picture of a _girl_ on your wall, Marc?”

“What do you mean, _why_?” Marc’s hands fly out to the sides. “She’s awesome! Don’t tell me you haven’t seen her; we’ve watched the same races! How can you miss how completely brilliant she is?”

Alex, like any eleven-year old would, immediately begins teasing his brother.

“Do you like-like her, Marc? Do you have a _crush_ on her?”

“Shut it!” Marc leaps for his brother, and they end up tussling on the floor. “She’s just- she’s an amazing rider, alright, to win like she does even though she’s a girl.”

Alex ignores everything his brother is saying. “You think she’s _preeeeetty_!” He draws out the word as brattily as possible.

Marc blushes. Alex knows he’s right.

“You want to kiss her!”

Marc tries to strangle him.

Alex fights his way free, and gives one last parting shot. “You want to marry her!” He crows, as he runs out of Marc’s bedroom and down the hall.

(Alex remembers this ten years later, and collapses in laughter. He immediately rings Dani and tells her the whole thing with a Cheshire smile splitting his face.)

_Livio Suppo (2)_

“Hi! So you’re Daniela, obviously, and I’m Marc, and it’s going to be great riding with you next year!”

It’s nine o’clock, and Marc has been waiting for this formal meeting for most of his racing career.

Dani is less enthusiastic. She takes a long draught from her mug, and turns to Livio. “Is he always so _loud_?” she asks him (begs him to disagree).

Livio laughs, then coughs when Marc starts looking sad. “Ignore her, she didn’t get her beauty sleep last night. We’re all thrilled that you’ll be here with us next year, Marc.”

“She looks fine,” Marc protests _quietly_ , like she wanted, then freezes because Oh God did she hear him?

Dani’s scowling into her coffee, giving no sign of anything amiss.

Livio looks like he’s just swallowed a bug. Or had a sledgehammer of _terrible_ knowledge hit him between the eyes.

Marc grins, and tries to dispel the sudden tension. “What, I’ve got to try to make nice with her, don’t I?”

The team principal gives him a searching look. “I’m sure.”

It’s only a short meeting, confirming test days for the summer break, so the riders are set free minutes after that. They move to go separate ways at the door, and Marc tries not to be disappointed when he’s left saying a meek ‘goodbye’ to Dani’s back.

She pauses, and turns back to him. She’s _smiling_ , and Marc has no idea what to do with this.

“I don’t care what kind of superstar you happen to be, Marquez. I’ll be keeping you honest every step next year.”

_This_ is what Marc wanted- she’s talking to him! Smiling at him!

“I’ll probably be keeping you honest, for most of it,” he admits, grinning back. “I’m only going to be the rookie, remember?”

Dani raises her eyebrows, like she doesn’t believe that for a minute. “Oh, really?” She drains the last of the liquid in her mug. “You can’t believe that. _I_ don’t believe that.”

Daniela Pedrosa has _faith_ in him. _Daniela_ has faith in him. Marc could not have hoped for a better first meeting.

“It’s Marc, by the way,” he belatedly adds. He clarifies to her confusion: “Not Marquez, Marc. I’d like it if you called me that.”

“Call me Dani, then,” she replies casually. “See you at testing, Marc.” And she walks away.

Marc’s grateful for this, because he’s still trying to pick his jaw up off the floor.

(During the Epic Fallout, as Marc puts it, Livio rang him and asked if really, was he remembering this right- since _then_? Marc had mumbled and stuttered, sure the other man could _hear_ him blushing down the phone line.)

_Unnamed photographer (3)_

She jostles and gets her elbows out with the rest of the reporters in parc firmé, trying to position her camera for the best shot.

Most of the time, she doesn’t even see what she shoots, just hopes there’s a usable picture in there somewhere. It’s Repsol’s first one-two finish of the year; she _needs_ to get a decent picture to go with the triumphant headline.

That night, she downloads the files onto her laptop, and _stares_.

One of the downsides of being a reporter was that she saw so much of the news through the lens, it didn’t always sink in what she was actually seeing.

In one photo, Daniela Pedrosa is slapping her still-new team mate on the back, congratulating him for that final, heart-stopping overtake he pulled on Lorenzo to clinch second.

In another (and this is her perfect shot, _she knows it_ ) the Ice Queen (some of the press have had… interesting interviews with Daniela Pedrosa, to say the least) has given up any pretence of distance, and pulled Marc into a celebratory hug.

That is reporting gold, right there. She can’t remember off the top of her head the last time Pedrosa looked so animated on camera.

Her mouse clicks; she zooms in on their expressions.

_Holy shit, am I seeing this_?

And she knows that this picture is not one she can use. Marc’s expression is torn between shock, panic-

-she can hear the kid screaming in his head, ‘What do I do with my hands?!’ and supresses a chuckle-

-and sheer, utter _awe_.

Daniela Pedrosa has made Marc Marquez star-stricken with nothing more than a post-race celebratory gesture.

She can’t use this picture. It’s too obvious a portrayal of his feelings, and she _is_ a reporter, but she’s a motorsports photographer. She has some integrity, thank you.

She switches to the less incriminating backslap, wondering if Marquez himself even realises how deep he’s in it.

(With a grin, she tapes the polaroid to the bottom of the team’s ‘rules’ outside the Honda garage. Now everybody knows, she sees no reason the photo shouldn’t come out. She only wishes she could see their faces when they find it, though.)

_Alvaro Bautista (4)_

He can’t say Japan was a potential podium finish; Alvaro was always more concerned with Bradl and Rossi behind him than the three Spaniards racing in front of him. It’s not too painful, then, to step out and watch the trophy presentation, to see his fellow countrymen (and woman) receive their rewards for the weekend.

He isn’t really surprised when Marquez dumps most of his bottle over Dani’s head. She’s looking the other way, exchanging sprays and laughs with Jorge until the sudden drenching makes her splutter.

Jorge creases up; Alvaro wishes he could see the look on Dani’s face right now. She turns, and it’s right there: disbelieving amusement with a side of _do you want to play this game, Marquez?_

The young idiot beams at her.                                       

Dani wipes her eyes and scrapes back the loose hanging hairs about her face. The action pulls at her wet leathers, stretching them across her chest.

Marc isn’t beaming anymore. Alvaro thinks that expression is better known as _Mother of God_ with a side of dumbstruck admiration.

_Huh_ , he thinks. He hopes Marc moves his gaze up those vital few inches before anybody else notices where he’s looking.

Dani catches him off guard and gets him straight in the face with her champagne. It breaks his concentration as he coughs and tries to avoid her attack.

He’s gone _very_ red; even his Spanish skin cannot save him.

Alvaro thinks it’s completely hilarious.

(And completely _obvious_ ; he shakes his head when the news breaks not even a year later that the Honda riders are more than team mates. He only wonders how anybody can consider this _breaking_ news; to him, it’s old.)

_Julia Marquez (5)_                                               

“Marc, this is your father. Open the damn door.”

Julia doesn’t wait for a reply; he opens the door himself, and takes in the sight of his eldest son laying in his bed like he isn’t the record breaking newly-crowned MotoGP champion of 2013.

“Marc, what’s wrong?”

The younger man sighs, and turns onto his side. “It’s sort of stupid,” he mumbles.

Julia sits on the edge of the bed and ruffles his son’s hair. It has the desired effect; Marc cracks a grin and a protest: “Dad!”

He unsuccessfully tries to tame his hair again, then gives it up as a bad job.

“What’s stupid, Marc? You’ve been over the moon, this last month. Understandably so,” he allows, “But this last week it’s… tailed off. You’ve been moping up here except for job requirements and meal times. And,” he notices Marc’s new habit, glancing at his phone as though awaiting a reply that’s never coming, “You’ve made more eye-contact with your mobile than any of us in the last few days.”

It clicks. “Who are you missing?”

Marc ducks his head, trying to avoid his father’s knowing gaze. “It’s stupid,” he says again. “I’ve just been sending her little texts, silly things like what I’ve been up to, something Alex said, what the weather’s been doing… she doesn’t really reply that often, just enough to be polite. I miss her.”

“Who?” Julia prompts, gently. “A girlfriend? Someone in the paddock?” His expression is softly teasing.

“Dani,” Marc admits, nearly whispering. “I haven’t really spoken to her in weeks, now, so- I miss her.”

Julia stops cold. “Your team mate? Dani Pedrosa?”

_Has Marc ever spoken about another Dani under this roof?_ It’s difficult, but Julia resists glancing at the poster on Marc’s wall, the one he put up seven years ago.

Marc’s team mate who was his first (probably, if Julia is honest, his only) crush, who Marc’s hero-worshipped since he was old enough to understand the concept, who is seven years older than his son, and if this conversation goes as Julia’s expecting it to, these could be serious issues for him and Roser to think about.

“Yeah.” Marc takes in his father’s expression, and winces. “I said it was stupid.”

“You’re… friends, right?” Julia says, wondering internally if Marc will admit to anything else. It sounds like a lot more, to miss one person so much.

“Yeah,” Marc repeats, less enthusiastically. “We’re friends.”

“And that’s a problem?” Julia tries to ease the words out of Marc without being confrontational.

Marc suddenly sits up, and Julia backs away to avoid clashing heads with him. “It’s great! It’s brilliant- you know I used to worship her.” He gives his father a lopsided, mischievous grin. “It’s amazing being friends with someone you really admired growing up.”

_That wasn’t even the half of it_. “And?” Julia knows that can’t be all.

Marc flops back down and rubs his eyes with both hands. Julia waits him out, knowing the next words are Marc’s, if he wants to say them.

“And it… it hurts, sometimes,” Marc finally adds. “Because it seems like she’ll never see me as anything but that kid who used to admire her.” It’s an oblique reference, but Julia will take it.

He flicks his son’s ear. “Roser’s going to have a field day with this. You like Dani a _lot_ , Marc.”

They’re interrupted by Marc’s message tone. His eyes go wide, and he grabs the device off the bedside table. He barely glances at his father as he mutters, “Sorry, can I?”, already reading the message.

Julia is fascinated as he watches the change come over his son. Marc’s body relaxes and his face opens up like a flower in the summer sun. His smile shows all his teeth, and his eyes are lighter.

He thinks Marc _liking_ Dani Pedrosa is a bit of an understatement.

Not that they’d ever say it to Marc directly, but Roser’s going to have a _cow_ over this.

_Marc Marquez (1st real hope)_

It’s New Year’s Eve. Marc’s parents have a party going on; mostly neighbours and old friends celebrating the past twelve months and welcoming the next together.

He sent Dani the obligatory text a couple of hours ago, before festivities really kicked in and networks became overcrowded.

_Happy New Year. Hope it’s a good one for you. Marc._

He isn’t really expecting a reply, given her track record.

That’s why it makes his night when, at five minutes to midnight, his phone beeps. He picks it up uncaringly, expecting it to be the normal well wishes, and bolts upright on the sofa when he sees the sender.

_Happy New Year, Marc. Hope it’s as good as your last x_

“Holy shit,” he gasps out.

His mother glares at him for the language but Marc couldn’t care less. There’s one single, _beautiful_ letter taking up most of his attention right now.

She sent him a kiss. It’s a stupid, innocuous thing, the kind of thing that gets slung on to the end of too many messages nowadays and has lost its meaning.

He doesn’t need to check his inbox to know she’s never sent him one before.

_Either she’s drunk_ , he thinks, and it’s New Years, so he can’t discount the possibility, _or she’s tipsy or happy or just somehow, for no real reason at all, her barriers are lowered. And maybe, just maybe…_

_She cares._ Enough to send him a stupid little kiss on the end of a text message.

Marc’s smile is _huge_ as he rings in the New Year with friends and family. His wishes are uncomplicated.

_Let her care. Let her care enough that this year, something can come of it… please?_


	3. -I got your number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The original phone call between Marc, Basi and Antonio, Dani's father.
> 
> (Or, the one where Marc asks for Antonio's blessing, and Dani's favourite cake. It's difficult to tell which question is more important.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stalking has reached new heights. I refuse to be ashamed (I have read too many online biographies of Dani Pedrosa to count in the last four hours. I also have a new collection of pretty photos).
> 
> This takes place between chapters one and two of 'Write it...' It's from Basi's point of view, because that's too much fun to let go. Short, but hopefully sweet :D
> 
> Chapter title is from Tommy Tutone's 'Jenny/867-5309' which, being about a phone-sex prostitute, has no relevance here apart from the fact it is awesome and about phone calls.
> 
> Enjoi.

Basi picks up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello?”                                         

She doesn’t know who’s ringing, but they sound as confused as she is. “Who is this?”

“Hi! Er, this is Marc. Marc Marquez, I’m Dani’s team mate at Honda?”

Basi snorts, “Of course I know who you are. Why are you calling?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “You _do_? Has she… mentioned me, at all?”

“Why are you calling?” Basi ignores the question, assuming the worst. “Is she okay? What happened?” She sits down heavily; what has Dani done now? “It’s serious, isn’t it, is she alright?!” She doesn’t notice she’s talking over the young man until she pauses for breath.

“Dani’s fine! I swear, Dani’s okay, this isn’t anything to do with her!” There’s a pause. Basi raises her eyebrows. “Okay, no, it _is_ to do with her, but not like that! She doesn’t know I’m ringing you.”

_That’s_ interesting. That brings up a new plethora of reasons for the call. Basi bites her lip, hoping she’s hiding her amusement. “This isn’t helping your case, Mr Marquez.”

She hears a strangled, frustrated yell from the other end of the line. “I’m doing this all wrong; I just wanted to ask you something about her, something I didn’t want to bother her with.”

“And why should I give you information about my daughter?” She’s going to break a rib in a minute from keeping her diaphragm steady.

There’s a sigh. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Sorry. I just- wanted to surprise her. I was wondering if she had a favourite sweet, or cake, anything like that? Something that’d make her smile, that she’d enjoy.”

Basi cannot articulate the places her mind has gone to: they are filled with squealing, happiness and rainbows. “Are you trying to apologise for something?” She gives up being subtle, impatient for the answer, and goes in for the kill. “Are you two _dating_? Are you trying to be sweet to her?”

“Er-”

“Blueberry!” Basi says it triumphantly. “She loves blueberry cakes; always has. This is so _cute_ of you, I’m sure she’ll love it!”

“You think so?” There’s relief bleeding thick and heavy through the speaker. “Oh, but we’re not dating, Mrs Pedrosa. I haven’t- asked yet.”

Basi pounces on the word like a cat on a particularly slow, fat, juicy mouse. “But you _are_ going to ask her? With cakes? You better tell me everything, because God knows she never will.”

“… She does struggle with communication, doesn’t she?”

Basi doesn’t care if he _can_ hear her grin. “So you know what you’re getting into, as well. Thank God, you seem to want her anyway.”

“I do.”

(Basi isn’t going to lie, she gets an image in her head then, one that represents everything she wants for her headstrong daughter. There’s a church: a girl in a special dress and a boy standing together at the front, stumbling over the same words.

There’s also a motorbike or two parked outside, but she can live with that in the wider picture.)

Seeing as really, it’s _far_ too early for any of that, she sets it aside.

For now.                   

“If you can- _convince_ her to stop racing, you’ll have a standing invitation to my Sunday lunch.” Basi’s tone is deliberately sly. She can still tease the poor, nervous kid. God knows he’ll need to be made of strong stuff to put up with Daniela.

“I- er- I’ll try?” Marc’s audibly flustered. It’s completely _un_ convincing (and cute), but she lets it slide. Daniela’s happy where she is; Basi can’t deny that. Giving up racing is more a standing joke between them than a serious hope.

“Good luck.” She’s not talking about the invitation.

“Thanks, Mrs Pedrosa.”

She’s guessing he knows. She throws him a bone for the sheer balls (she’s betting Dutch courage played a part here) it must have taken for him to ring her. “Call me Basi, Marc.”

“Oh. _Really_?”                        

“Really.” Should she be worried about this? Marc sounded awfully young with that response.

“Actually, can I talk to her father, too?”

_What_? “I’ll just get him,” Basi says. She puts the phone down, and covers her mouth so he hopefully won’t hear her laughing.

She grabs her husband, and puts it on speaker as she hands over the phone. He raises his eyebrows, but acquiesces when she glares and presses a finger to her lips.

“You asked to speak to me, Mr Marquez?”

There’s a muffled squeak. Basi bites her own fist so as not to give the game away.

“Mr Pedrosa! I- er- I want-to-ask-your-permission-to-date-your-daughter?” It comes out in one breath, the words barely distinguishable.

They’re distinct enough to make Basi’s laugh catch in her throat.

Her husband doesn’t blink. “Ask, then.”

“What? Oh!”

Basi isn’t even smiling anymore. She hears a slow intake of breath, and a calming sigh.

“May I have your permission to date your daughter?”

They exchange glances. The repeated words were more measured, _serious_ in a way neither one of them expected.

Antonio isn’t going to let him have this conversation easily. They know Marc can handle professional pressure, but this is something entirely different. “Why?” He asks simply.

There’s silence. It stretches long enough that Basi’s begins to worry Marc’s hung up, until he breaks it. “Because I’ve cared about her- felt something for her- for a while,” he says plainly. “And- I’ve been thinking that instead of doing that from a distance, I want to make a go of it. I want to try caring _with_ her, and see if she can care, too.”

Basi’s not sure if her husband’s eyebrows can be rescued from his hairline.

“If she’ll have me, obviously,” Marc quickly adds. “I mean- I haven’t asked her yet. I wanted to check if you had any objections, as her father-”

“Marc-” Antonio tries, but the kid’s still talking.

“And I can’t promise I’ll actually listen to them, but it’d be better to know, right? I’ll at least _consider_ them.”

_And promptly ignore them_ , goes unsaid, if not unheard.

“Marc!” This time, the use of his first name shuts the rider up. “You know my daughter?”

Basi isn’t sure where Antonio’s going with this line of inquiry.

“…Yes?” It sounds like Marc’s wondering if this is a trick question.

“You know how old she is?”

“She’s twenty-eight,” Marc immediately replies, “But-”

“Then you should be able to work out that who she dates is _entirely_ her choice. What Basi or I think doesn’t automatically come into it anymore.”

It hurts Basi to agree with him, but he’s right. Daniela is a woman grown; her prerogative now is only to tease, not rule.

“Oh. _Right_.” Pure relief accompanies the word.

“Right,” Antonio agrees, thinking that is the end of it. He shares another look with his wife; she’s dangerously close to amusement again.

“But- I have your blessing to ask?”

Antonio is amused despite himself. “Yes, Marc, you have my blessing. I have no objections to the idea of you dating my daughter, if, as you put it, she’ll have you. Is that clear enough?”

“That’s- thank you, Mr Pedrosa.”

The sincere gratitude makes him smile. “You’re welcome. Was there anything else you wanted to ask?”

“No, that was it…”

“Goodbye, then.”

“Bye! And tell Basi bye from me, and thanks!”

“I will.” Antonio disconnects the call. He looks at his wife, and admits she may not be making more of this than there actually is.

“He’s completely smitten with her,” is his conclusion. He frowns. “He asked for my _blessing_? For dating?”

“It’s Daniela,” Basi points out. “She’s rather old-fashioned, dear.”

“You’re finding this far too funny.”

Basi links her arm through his, and smiles sunnily. “You agreed- he’s _hilariously_ smitten with her.”

Antonio pats his wife’s hand. “I said no such thing.” He relents in the face of Basi’s pout. “But when you’re right-”

Basi nods firmly. “I’m right, and you know it.”

He purses his lips, whistling softly. “God help him.”


	4. Promises, promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreaded day has come: Susa's first trip out on a big bike.
> 
> (If the adults stop arguing about who's going to be driving, that is.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a snippet, all good fun.
> 
> Enjoi.

It’s Susana’s seventh birthday. The dreaded day has come: Dani promised her that when she was seven, she could go out on the back of one of the big bikes.

Thank _God_ Susana was a summer birth is all Dani will say to that. If it was cold or raining, there would be no expedition. It’s going to be nerve-wracking enough watching her oldest daughter leave on the back of a 1000cc motorbike as it is, no matter who is driving it.

“This was such a bad idea,” Dani says to Alex, who’s playing with the eighteen months old Gracia in her pen. “They’re going to kill each other over this.”

“You _did_ insist on making Jorge their honouree uncle,” Alex mutters back. “It’s really all your fault he thinks he should do this.”

“You’re their uncle, too,” Dani is suddenly worried that Alex feels left out. “Why aren’t you fighting over this?”

Alex smirks. “I’m the cool uncle. They need to be a bit older for what I plan to teach them.”

Dani eyes him suspiciously.               

“With their mother’s knowledge, and permission,” Alex adds hastily.

“I’m watching you,” Dani warns him. She sighs. “They’re still at it?”

“Getting louder,” Alex grins, tickling Gracia’s tummy, and Dani makes up her mind. She might as well worry in the field, as it were.

“Watch Gracia.” she orders him; ‘cool’ uncle or not, she swears Alex has the most sense out of all of them. She strides up to the arguing men and ignores them, crouching down to talk to her daughter. “You want to ride on mum’s bike first, Susa? It’s much prettier than your dad’s and uncle Jorge’s.”

The motorbike in question is (of course; she’s loyal) a CBR Fireblade. It’s one of the subtler bikes Dani owns, because it is completely white, and Susana has been told since she was young enough to understand to keep her fingers off it if she doesn’t want to be washing it later.

Susana’s eyes go wide. “ _Really_? Awesome!” Her pigtails fly out behind her as she runs to get her helmet and riding clothes.

Dani snorts at Jorge’s flabbergasted look, and Marc’s pout of betrayal. “You were taking too long. She’d be eight before you finished arguing.”

“Dani!” Marc whines almost as much as their daughter. “I wanted to be the first one to drive her around!”

“And _I_ said it should be somebody who knows what a speed limit is!”

“Her first big bike experience is _not_ going to be on a Yamaha!”

(Marc’s loyal, too.)

“Come on mum! Please? I want to go on your bike!”

Dani smiles sweetly. “Too late, boys.” She walks over to the girl at the front door, who’s rocking back and forth on her heels and clutching her helmet to her chest. “Give mum a minute to get changed, and I’ll be right with you.”

Jorge and Marc watch with mixed emotions as woman and girl peel out of the garage. They can just about hear Susana shriek over the engine noise.

“You just got owned,” Alex states levelly, on the floor with Gracia using him as support and climbing frame. He turns to Jorge. “And you’re not even married to her. At least Marc’s got an excuse.”

Marc thinks about protesting, but it’s really not worth the denial.


	5. Uncle Alex's Agony Advice (and Arithmatics)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex puts his two cents in when his nieces need it (as long as they don't tell their mother).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, have some older!Marquez i Pedrosa spawns with coolest uncle in the world!Alex. Alongside spawns growing up and taking baby steps into the racing world.
> 
> Enjoi.

There’s notes and rules pinned to the fridge, as there has been every time previous that Alex has babysat for his brother and sister-in-law.

The same as every time previous, he ignores the _dinner’s in the fridge; microwave for three minutes_ , and orders himself and the girls a couple of pizzas to share.

Alex Marquez is from that curious strand of the human genome that has discovered how to burn water. It’s something he’s particularly proud of.

Susana grumbles every half an hour or so about how she’s _fifteen_ ; she doesn’t need a babysitter. Gracia then pipes up that she’s only ten, and she loves having her cool uncle around. She proceeds to kick both their arses on the playstation, and if Alex is only the cool uncle because he lets her win, well, he’s not above using bribery.

(Or denial. Because now Gracia’s hitting double figures, it’s less about letting her win than trying to stop her.)

Susa mutters something like ‘going upstairs; got things to sort out’, leaving just the two of them in the sitting room. Alex looks at Gracia worriedly.

“Is your sister okay? She seems a bit off.”

Gracia bites her lip. “It’s- you know she’s got a wildcard for Valencia? I don’t know why she’s worrying about it, but it’s something to do with that.”

Marc has only crowed a couple of times about Susa’s wildcard (per day, so Alex knows _all_ about that).

He frowns. “Has she spoken to your parents about it?”

Gracia shrugs. “Dunno.”

_Children_ , honestly. Alex should probably feel bad for using his younger niece as a source of information, but needs must. “Do you think it’d help if _I_ talked to her?”

Gracia lights up. “Oh, I’m sure that’ll solve everything! Of course you’d be able to help her, uncle Alex!”

Thank God Gracia is too young for her mother’s sarcasm, or Alex might be slightly wounded.

“I’ll catch her later,” he muses aloud. Then he grabs Gracia and starts tickling her. “And as for you- I’ve got three more chances to win before you’re off to bed!”

Gracia laughs merrily, batting at his hands. “No chance! The last time you won, you _cheated_ , uncle Alex!”

“I did not!” Alex protests, poking her in the side.

(He totally did. His pride couldn’t stand it any longer.

Gracia was nine, then.)

“Yeah right!”

“I’ll prove it,” Alex swears as he loads up the next game. He is then beaten, thrashed and annihilated.

Gracia laughs so much, she hardly argues as he gets her into bed.

-*-

Alex knocks gently on the wood, mindful of the little sister sleeping in the next room. “Can I come in?” he asks softly.

There’s footsteps, and Susana opens her bedroom door slowly. “What?” she tries to snap, but she’s been crying.

Alex immediately sweeps her into a hug. “Susa, what’s _wrong_? Is this about Valencia?”

“No!” she sniffles into his chest. “Yes- maybe?”

He guides her to the bed. “Sit down so I can hear you properly. What’s worrying you? Why haven’t you spoken to Marc, or Dani?”

“It’s mum and dad I’m worried about,” she whispers. Then she bursts into tears.

“Susa- _shit_ ,” Alex hisses, clueless about what to do now. The expletive startles a near-hysterical laugh out of the girl.

“I won’t tell mum.” She hiccoughs between the words.

“ _Thank_ you,” Alex says fervently. “She’ll-”

“Kill you?” Susana suggests with a watery smile. “Nah, she’s more likely to kill me, soon.”

“Why?” When Susana looks doubtful, he gives his gentlest smile to reassure her. “You can talk to me Susa; you know that. I won’t tell her either if you don’t want me to.”

“I’m thinking of pulling out,” Susana confesses, fiddling with her right plait. She likes the braid trademark her mother set but doesn’t want to copy it, so she never really grew out of the pigtails phase.

“Out… of the _race_?” Alex is honestly surprised. “You’ve been waiting for this since you were thirteen! Every few months, you’ve been asking why you weren’t fifteen already!”

“But I didn’t realise!” Susana all but shouts back at him. “I’m mum’s daughter! I’m _dad’s_ daughter! I didn’t know-” her voice breaks, and she barely manages the last part. “They all expect so much of me. I think dad’ll cry if I’m not on the podium.”

And well, she’s a wildcard. Susana knows that realistically, she’ll be lucky to finish in the _points_.

“Susa, _no_ ,” Alex takes her hand and strokes a thumb over the back of it. “God, no. You _must_ see how proud of you they are already, just for entering- Marc’s barely shut up about it!” Susa winces, and Alex hurriedly continues, because _great way not to remind her of the pressure, Marquez._

(There _is_ pressure by simple fact of who her parents are; Alex would be a fool to deny that. But not from Marc or Dani. Never from them.)

“They won’t care if you drop it in the first corner,” he reconsiders this- “Okay, Dani’ll drive everybody up the wall until you’ve been checked over in three different hospitals, but- they love you so much, Susa, and that won’t change no matter what result you get.”

She stares at him, eyes wide. “Really?” Her voice shakes, but it looks like she believes him, thank God.

Alex nods firmly. “Really.”

Susana tugs her hand free and starts fiddling with her braid again. “There’s something else,” she admits, “But it’s a bit sillier. I was thinking- I want to race number 96.” She smiles nervously at him. “Do you think they’ll like it?”

Alex grins so widely, his cheeks hurt. “I think they’ll _love_ it.”

-*-                                                     

Susana shocks the world when she takes eighth in Valencia. She is completely, utterly over the moon.

Her family is waiting when she pulls into the garage; Gracia barely lets her get off the bike before hugging her to death, and Marc, impatiently tapping his foot, finally sweeps them both up in a crushing embrace.

Dani waits for the two more excitable Marquezes to release her, then pulls her in for a strong, timeless hug. “I’m so proud of you, honey,” she whispers into Susana’s ear.

Susana never really noticed, but she’s taller than her mother now; she buries her head in Dani’s shoulder and has to bend _down_ to do so. She squeezes back in gratitude for the heartfelt words, and if she sheds a few tears, nobody judges her.

“Thanks, mum,” she whispers back.

-*-                        

Gracia flops down on the sofa next to him, and unceremoniously swings her feet up into his lap.

“I have a dilemma,” she announces.

Alex shoves her feet back onto the floor, and raises his eyebrows.

While Susana is definitely Dani’s girl (her clone, if you read the sportspapers), Gracia inherited a lot more from the Marquez side of things. Her flair for dramatics, for example.

“Uncle Alex!” She swings her feet up again and pouts at him. “I have a dilemma. You’re the best, coolest uncle in the world so you’re meant to fix it for me.”

“What do you want?” Alex fakes disinterest.

She whacks him on the shoulder.

(Her Marquez-ness doesn’t completely eclipse her mother’s influence.)

“Susana got to choose her number,” Gracia whines, “And because she’s the eldest, _of course_ she had first pick and got the best one! I can’t decide what I want to use when I race at Catalunya this spring.”

Alex wrinkles his brow. “What about 23? Or is that too predictable?”

Gracia tilts her head back to rest on the arm, sighing dramatically. “That’s what I thought of, at first- but somebody’s already using it, and somebody else’s got 32, and I can’t ask them to put it aside for one race just so I can follow the family footsteps!”

Alex has a wicked, _wicked_ idea. He tugs on Gracia’s ankle, and she slits her eyes to look at him again. “What?”

“Want to drive your mother well and truly up the wall?” Alex winks at her.

Gracia grins back. “I like that smirk,” she says. “What are you planning, uncle Alex?”

“There’s another number linked to them that you can use,” he says, expression pure _evil_. “And I know for a fact that nobody’s using it in any class at the moment, including your sister.”

There’s only one number to put that kind of _evil_ in his tone. Gracia understands, and stares at him with awe on her face.

“You are _awesome_ , uncle Alex,” she says solemnly. She breaks into a fit of giggles. “This’ll drive mum _insane_!”

-*-

Gracia keeps quiet about it until her bike is unveiled for free practice. Marc sees it first, and bursts out laughing.

“You’re brave, kid.” He ruffles her short hair. Gracia’s always preferred the practicality (laziness, as her mother puts it) of lopping it all off every couple of months so she never has to properly style it. “I like it.”

“Like what?” Dani turns and studies what everybody else is looking at. She freezes, the calm before Hurricane Daniela descends on the paddock.

“ _Gracia Marquez i Pedrosa_ , you are _fifteen_ years old! _What_ are you doing using _that_ number?” She rounds on Marc, who hasn’t quite managed to stop laughing. “Did you put her up to this?”

He holds up both hands momentarily, before re-wrapping them around his sides. “Not guilty, love,” he wheezes.

Dani narrows her eyes, but can tell when he’s lying, and this is not his idea.

She pins Gracia with furious eyes. “Who put you up to this?”

Gracia’s truly scared that her mother will murder her uncle if she confesses, so keeps the secret. “I just- came up with it,” she shrugs. “Any 2/3 combination was taken, and I wasn’t going to re-use Susa’s number, was I? So.”

She pats the windscreen on her bike, proudly painted with a 69.

“You like it?” She asks innocently.

Marc’s barely recovered from his previous fit, but this sets him off again.

Dani glares at her. “I love it,” she says through clenched teeth.

It rolls off Gracia like water from a duck’s back. “I thought you would,” she agrees sunnily.

There is practice to be had, so she has to suit up and boot it before Dani can say anything else. Gracia’s just about to pull away when she hears her mother mutter to her father,

“ _She_ is a complete demon child. It’s your fault.”

She’s gone before she hears Marc’s wry reply.

“And yet it’s you who calls your mother the devil.”


	6. Is this thing on?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Some of the press have had... interesting interviews with Daniela Pedrosa, to say the least.'
> 
> Dani's early days, and early interviews, from the world of 125cc racing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse. Have some fifteen year old Daniela + interviews +swearing. (For some reason, teenaged!Daniela has a potty mouth. Then again, adult Daniela isn't much better...)
> 
> Chapter title is the spoken intro to Britney Spears's (don'tjudgeme) 'I Love Rock and Roll'. It seemed appropriate :D
> 
> Enjoi.

“You aren’t getting out of this,” Alberto frowns as he watches his charge _flounce_ , and whatever Daniela says on the subject, she is very much _flouncing_ around the garage at this point in time.

“Do I _have_ to?” The fifteen year old girl whines. “I’m going to make a complete and utter fool of myself.”

“You’re newsworthy, Daniela. That means broadcasters want to talk to you. Which means,” he puts some steel in his voice, “You _are_ going to be talking to them.”

Dani considers this, and sees what he isn’t saying. If she gives in now, he might not correct this error at all. “Alright,” she sighs, eyes downcast, every inch the reluctantly obedient teenager. “Who am I talking to?”

-*-                                                     

“So, this round’s at Catalunya. How are you feeling about it?”

Dani hopes the interview is over soon. She’s running low on sarcasm, and that’s saying something. This middle aged, male reporter has asked her every obvious, demeaning question he can think of, and she wonders how she pissed Alberto off so much to schedule her first real interview with a journalist who is so clearly _not_ one of her fans.

(Not that she has many fans, at the moment. But she has people who admire her for what she’s doing, and knowing that gives her something extra to push with every weekend.

It’s the perfect prose these interviews are meant to contain. Dani winces, and locks the sentiment down. If she does a good interview, Alberto might schedule _more_.)

“It’s my home race, isn’t it?” Dani giggles, alternating her personas between brainless twit and sarcastic bitch. There’s a crease between the reporter’s eyebrows that gets more pronounced with every answer she gives. It’s a wonderful feeling. “I’m really excited, and hoping for a good result at a track I know so well!” It’s a stupid, stock answer to the question, one he really should have expected.

The reporter’s not even hiding his grimace as he dutifully jots it down.

“And finally.”

_Oh thank God_ , they both think.

“How does it feel to make the step up to 125cc racing in your- unique situation?”

Dani scrunches up her brow. “It might be unique to you, but it’s a normal situation to me,” she says.

(Alberto face-palms off camera. Dani grins internally.)

The reporter fakes a laugh; he can’t decide if she’s deliberately being difficult or if it’s a natural gift. “And the step up?” he questions again.

The girl shrugs. “I was selected from the Movistar Activa Cup,” she explains. “It’s not like I’m not used to racing, racing _males_ , if you want to be specific about it. The main difference I’m noticing in 125s is the size of the-”

-word deleted from recording-

“-I’m racing against.” She feigns horrified embarrassment, turning wide eyes to her advisor. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t meant to say that, was I?”

Alberto looks like he’s swallowing poison. “I’m sure you meant to say, ‘size of the engines’,” he grinds out.

She puts the final nail in the coffin of this interview, turning back to the reporter. “Did you want to run this through again?” She asks, sweet and saccharine.

“No!” The reporter gathers his notes hurriedly. “I think I’ve got everything I wanted. It’s been,” he grins wryly, because that last answer had cemented it for him, “An experience, Daniela Pedrosa.”

“Hasn’t it?” She’s smiling, but the light of the devil is in her eyes.

Alberto shakes the reporter’s hand, and the man makes his escape. Then he turns to his charge. “Daniela,” he begins, expression dark.

“So we’ve established I’m complete _crap_ at interviews; maybe these things are a bad idea.” She doesn’t think she’ll win this point so early, but he’s probably guessed what she’s doing.

“On the contrary,” Alberto promises, schadenfreude in his tone, “It just means you need the practice.”

Dani grits her teeth.

-*-                                                                                                        

On the contrary to everything she’s heard about a podium finish, there is one _major_ downside.

Fucking interviews. A microphone is shoved into her face almost as soon as her helmet comes off.

“Daniela Pedrosa! How does it feel to have your first podium at the Valencian GP?”

“Might as well ask me why the fucking sky is blue,” Dani mutters.

The woman laughs, and Dani blanches, hoping the mic hasn’t picked that up. It’s one thing when she’s planning the outcome, but off the cuff is another matter altogether. “Too many different emotions to name, then?” She asks with a co-conspirator’s smile.

Is- is this woman actually on her side? “Yeah, something like that,” she says non-committedly.

The female reporter _winks_. “Come on, give us the biggest one! What does it feel like?”

“Relief,” Dani says honestly, but she’s not talking about the race.

The other woman clearly senses this: she snorts delicately, covering her face with her free hand.

Dani’s first interview has made the rounds, then. She figured it would.

-*-

Dani looks around for the woman she had at the last race, but it’s in vain. An unknown man is smirking and putting his mic in her face.

“Two podiums in as many weeks, Daniela Pedrosa,” he says. “How does that feel? What was this race like for you with that momentum behind it?”

It’s almost a professional question, if she wasn’t waiting to be blindsided by whatever witticism he’s clearly biting his cheek to hold in.

So she shrugs, and answers like the boys do: standard sentences. “It is good. We had good feeling on this track. I had confidence coming from the podium in Valencia.” She smiles, baring her teeth. “It’s good.”

“No extra comments to add?” he pokes at her. “After a shaky start to the season, you seem to be finding some form with the bike.”

Dani’s braid hits her in the cheek as she whips her head back around. “Excuse me?”

He’s unfazed by her impertinence. “The second half of the season, you’ve been a regular top-ten finisher, despite your handicap. That must be nice for you.”

“It’s my first year racing in the 125cc category.” She doesn’t make it into an excuse, just states it for the fact it is: any rookie top ten finish is pretty damn miraculous, and he’s making it sound like she was slacking off for the first, adjusting races. “And what _handicap_ are you referring to?”

_I dare you. Go on, say it._

“Your height, of course.”

Dani doesn’t dignify that lie with an answer; she spins on her heel and stalks away.

-*-

“Daniela, you need to stop this.”

Alberto is the only person, other than her mother, who always uses her full name. They both drive her completely up the wall on occasion, too.

(She’s ignoring any other similarities to preserve the little sanity they’ve not yet managed to destroy between them.)

“Doing bad interviews is not going to stop me scheduling them. It is not going to stop you from finishing on the podium, and needing to give them. All you are doing is proving your critics right; that a girl hasn’t got the temperament to compete at this level.”

Alberto gets points for not suggesting she’s sabotaging her career to prevent the evil necessity. But still-

“Like _hell_ I am. I finished 8 th in my rookie year; what does that say about girls being competitive?”

He sighs. “Why can’t you see the opportunity here? You’re in a unique situation- and don’t roll your eyes at me Daniela, you know I’m not being condescending- so why don’t you use it to your advantage?”

“What advantage?” she bitterly asks. “Most of the reporters don’t care about my results, anyway. They can’t see past my chromosomes.”

“Use it,” Alberto says simply. “Use it to your advantage, and take it from them so they can’t use it against you.”

Dani screws up her face. “You want me to wear skirts and make-up, smile softly and giggle at the cameras?”

It is a vision of horror.              

“No,” Alberto disagrees. “I want you to _dazzle_ them. I know it’s going to be difficult- but tone down the sarcasm. Yes, smile more. Be thoughtful and consider your responses properly, and not so you can see how best to get a reaction. Don’t try to act like one of the boys; they’ll eat you alive. Be something different, and you might have a shot.”

Dani actually considers this, because Alberto really does have the best in mind for her career. She huffs out an irritated sigh. “I’m making no promises.”

He nods.               

“And I’m _not_ wearing make-up. Helmet would smear it all to Hell, anyway.”

“I didn’t expect anything different of you.”

“Good.”

-*-

“Holy shit,” Dani mutters to herself as she pulls into parc firmé. She’s pulling into the number one spot.

“Holy _shit_ , I did it.”

She manages to stop swearing as she pulls off her helmet, movements jerky and uncoordinated.

“Dani!” She’s guided over to the reporters after receiving enthusiastic congratulations from her team. She goes robotically, trying to mentally re-install the brain to mouth filter she and Alberto have been working on this year. “How does it feel coming off your second place in Catalunya to your first career win here at Assen?”

“Bloody brilliant,” comes out.

Systems fail.              

-*-

“Well,” Alberto sighs later, reviewing the headlines, “You definitely gave them something different.”

Dani beams at him.


	7. The Second Amendment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amendment 2: Conversations about data are not to be used as euphemisms.  
> Amendment 2 (a): No conversations are to be used as euphemisms.  
> Amendment 2 (b): God damn it Marc, get your mind out of the gutter.
> 
> (Or, the story of how Marc got tarred with an unfair brush, and Dani gets away with (metaphorical) murder.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some Marc/Daniela fluff. This slots into chapter 10 of 'Write...'  
> (I know nothing about what telemetry sheets actually say and have completely made it up. We can all pretend, y/y?)
> 
> Enjoi.

“What’re you frowning at?” Dani leans over Marc’s shoulder to read the paper he’s so intently studying.

The sheet is completely covered in red lines, half-scribbled sentences, and doodles. It’s hard to make out the original text.

“It’s my telemetry data from the wet session earlier,” Marc says absently. “I can’t get any of it to make sense!”

She hesitates for a moment, because Marc hasn’t asked her a riding-related question since they started dating. “Did you want to ask me anything?”

It’s almost like he’s forgotten he _can_. “You don’t mind? Even now? I don’t want you to think I’m using you, or anything-”

“Marc. Shut up; you’re being stupid again.” She flicks his ear.

A mechanic clears his throat loudly and when she glares at him, nods at the sign on the wall. The Infernal Sign.

“It’s work related!” She hisses at the man.

He shakes his head, laughing softly. Dani takes the higher ground (metaphorically, alright, _shut up_ ) and ignores him.

She perches on the edge of the counter and snatches the sheet from Marc’s hands. She manages a minute of deciphering the standard, printed words underneath her boyfriend’s frankly atrocious handwriting and drops it back onto the desk. “We need a fresh copy,” she says, “And coffee. Lots of coffee.”

“Am I keeping you up, darling?” Marc grins at her.

She taps his nose, just because she _can_. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

The team (bless them) bring over a whole pot of coffee with the requested data. Less amusingly, they bring Dani a straw rather than the two mugs she intended.

“Are we expected to share the straw?” she inquires archly.

The joker claps Marc on the shoulder. “That’s true love right there,” he says loudly enough for Dani to hear, “If she’s planning to share caffeine with you.”

Marc _knows_ his grin is what Dani would kindly call ‘stupid’. “I barely believe it myself.”

“Data!” Dani blusters. There is the slightest hint of red on her cheeks; it’s _adorable_.

(Marc will never tell her this, for fear of never getting off the proverbial sofa.)

“Right.” He coughs. “Help me?”

“This corner,” Dani taps the page. “The wet tyres can’t handle the torque you’re putting on them. That’s why your back end’s slipping sideways.”

“But-”                                                                           

“I know that’s your preferred riding style, but those of us who do this _properly_ ,” she’s smiling, there’s no real chastisement there, “Actually have the right idea on some very few and far between occasions.”

She scans the rest of the page. “Here as well- you’re going for exit speed, but it’s pushing you too far off the apex. I’d be on top of you in a heartbeat if you did that in a race.”

Marc’s mind is _gone_.                             

She rolls her eyes, not having noticed his sudden lack of attention. “Speed isn’t always everything. You need to take the corner as the conditions make it, not how it is in perfect weather. Rain means slow down a bit coming in, and you’ll be able to get back on the throttle on the exit that little bit earlier. You'll be more accurate, too.” She finally notices his glazed-over eyes, and elbows him. “Oi. I don't care if you know all of this already; you aren't applying it, so I'm saying it again. Are you listening, or am I wasting my time?”

Marc blinks, coming back to reality. “You never waste your time with me, Dani!”

She’s suspicious, but can’t put her finger on why.

The mechanics are _cracking_ up in the corner.

-*-                                          

Dani reads the second amendment to the Rules the very next day, and is completely and utterly mortified.

-*-

Dani controls herself all through the podium, but when they’re back to the garage and packing up, she yanks Marc over (outside the door, damn the hyenas she works with) and kisses him.

“That was too close,” she mutters as she pulls away. “ _Don’t_ do that again.”

Marc had nearly lost it. _Marc_ had nearly lost the bike halfway through the race, and Dani took the gifted position automatically even as she strained to keep hearing his engine note over the roar of her own.

The only reason she isn’t threatening to kill him is because he took the place back three laps later.

_Bastard_ , she thinks fondly.              

Marc puts his hands on her hips, thumbs smoothing over the leather. “This is your idea of discouragement?”

“No,” Dani hugs him again. “This is my idea of positive reinforcement.” Livio’s tapping his foot in the garage doorway. “We’re outside, and it’s work related!” She calls over Marc’s shoulder, to his unimpressed stare. She cuddles into her boyfriend again, and feels the last of her stress ease away. “I’ll put it in layman’s terms for you, Marc. Every race you finish without a panic-inducing, reckless stunt- every ride you complete without giving me conniption fits in the process- let’s just say I’ll be _much_ more relaxed on those nights.” She winks at him, and strolls past their manager and his now sky-high eyebrows.

-*-                                

2(a) is present the next time the sign comes out. Marc looks up as she enters, and then to what she’s staring at. He shrugs, “Apparently Livio didn’t believe you on the work-related front.”

Dani really has only herself to blame for that one, she supposes.

-*-                                                                               

_Two hundredths of a second._

Fractions have never sounded so sweeter. It’s not a win, but it’s a pole position, and she still beats Marc three times out of five in a practice start (she’s got something like a fifteen kilo advantage on him; it’s more shameful that he manages to beat her the remaining two times). It _could_ be converted into a win, if she gets enough of a lead into the first corner-

-this is not realistic thinking (Marc’s proved that already this year), but Dani’s determined to be the one to break his 2014 record-setting. She might be dating him, but they’re racing against each other too. She’s ecstatic over his win record, and he knows it, but she _really, really_ wants to be the first one to beat him this season. He knows this. It makes him smile.

She’s focussing on statistics and probabilities with her team, Livio included; it blindsides her when Marc walks merrily up and winks. “Sweet ride at the end there, Dani.”

Her team subtly disperse into the crowd. It's almost like they're _used_ to it.

He _winks,_ the bastard. So Dani forces herself over the shock and leers straight back at him.

“What can I say? I like something powerful between my legs.”

He grins smugly. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that.”

Dani is dangerously close to jumping Marc in the middle of a parc firmé qualifying conference. Then again, he probably wouldn’t mind.

Jorge _thumps_ past the both of them, hand over his eyes. “I swear to God I will not be responsible for my actions Oh my God stop talking both of you _please-_ ” he falls out of earshot fairly quickly, at his pace.

Marc smirks after him. “Some people just don’t know how to handle you, do they?”

-*-

2(b) is now a thing: she thinks it's hilarious that Livio thinks _Marc's_ the disreputable one.

"It's completely unfair!" Marc whines to her. "You're worse than me!"

"But," Dani reasonably argues, "I know when I'm not going to get caught." To prove her point, she straddles Marc on his chair in the garage and initiates the kind of intense, slow kiss she _really_ wanted to give him after qualifying. The sort that leaves lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed and breaths coming too quickly, the kind that's almost always a prelude to other things.

She knows there's nobody else in the garage with them.

Marc stands up with her in his arms and pins her to the wall. They just kiss, breathing each other's air and nipping at lips; they lose track of time, wrapped up in each other.

(It still proves her point, though. Because Livio walks in- it _had_ to be him, of course- and immediately covers his eyes, shrieking _Damn it Marc this is exactly what I meant! Professionalism in the garage as of this moment!_ )

"Has he never heard that it takes two to tango?" Marc mutters as she slides back to her feet.

"Do you dance, my dear?" Dani bats her eyelashes at him.

"I think I can keep up with you-"

_"Marc! Get your mind out of the gutter already!"_

Marc throws his hands up in the air. "I give up," he moans.

Dani chuckles. "I'll make it up to you later."

He waits, but there's no shout from the manager. "So unfair," he moans (quietly).

Dani laughs huskily into his ear. "Know what else this proves? Beware every time I threaten to kill you; I really _can_ get away with murder."

“ _So_ unfair."


	8. Love's Not A Competition (But I'm Winning)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courting a Marquez i Pedrosa spawn: the How To guide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter features light OFC/OMC. If that's not your cup of tea, it won't detract from the rest of the stories if you don't want to read. Not gonna lie, I've had this in my head since I started writing these extras.
> 
> Chapter title courtesy of the Kaiser Chiefs; every time I hear it, it cracks me up :D
> 
> (edited minutes later for a couple of stupid mistakes; sorry to anybody who was jarred by them!)
> 
> Enjoi.

Dani is not becoming her mother. That is not what this is. But she still can’t help but burst out laughing at Susana’s aggrieved voice over the phone.

“And that win should have been mine; what happened to chivalry, mum?! I actually _felt_ him elbow me in the leg as he pushed past!”

“…You were racing, Susa,” Dani manages, “Not taking an afternoon stroll with your intended.”

Lucas Guerez is the funniest thing to happen to her daughter in _years_. It seems like every other weekend, Susana’s bitching about something he’s done to her.

“My what… _mother_! It’s not like that; he’s a complete and utter _bastard_! He’s ruining my championship chances!”

“Your father ruined my career,” Dani states the comparison grinning ear to ear.

“ _What_?”                              

“He knocked me up,” Dani cackles at her daughter’s wail. “In the full knowledge that I would retire when I got pregnant.”

Susa’s small voice stopped her laughter. “It’s my fault? You stopped racing because of me?”

Dani sidetracks immediately. “No! God, no, Susa, it’s not your fault I stopped racing- that was my choice, and mine alone.” Uncharitably, she wishes one of them was better at this communication thing; phone calls would be much easier if they both didn’t find it so difficult. “I was thirty-three, honey, I wouldn’t have been racing much longer anyway.”

“Because _that’s_ old,” Susa snorts, willing to take her mother’s easy forgiveness. Dani tries to get back to the light-hearted tone with her teasing.

“So. Lucas Guerez seems to be taking a leaf out of your father’s book, it seems to me.”

There is dead silence. Then Susa hisses, “I am _not_ interested in Guerez. He’s an arsehole.”

Susana hangs up. Dani starts cackling again.

-*-

Marc finds the situation less funny. “Is somebody _interested_ in my eldest daughter?” He stares at the television screen, proudly showing their girl’s first place podium, and back to Dani.

She hasn’t mentioned the kid to him at all; this is _priceless_. “Why so surprised, dear? She’s a beautiful, successful, nineteen year old with a Moto3 World Championship under her belt, currently fighting for her first Moto2 title.”

“She’s her mother’s clone, you mean,” Marc growls at the other teenager on the screen. He’s mollified when Susana shoves the other racer’s hand away instead of accepting the congratulatory hug. “For sure.” If the girl in that picture had had one braid instead of two, he’d swear he was watching archive footage.

“Hey.” Dani kicks his ankle lightly. “Already married, remember? Flattery will get you nowhere.”

They share a lovey-dovey grin, then Marc’s glaring at the screen again. “Who is he, anyway?”

“Lucas Guerez.”                                   

“That tells me nothing.” Her eagle-eyed husband is now watching the podium photo posing. “Is he hugging her too tightly, or is that just me?”

“Just you, dear. You used to grab me that tightly too; I swear you’ve given me more bruises than my crashes ever did.”

“As my lady commands.” Marc’s wink is short lived. “He _didn’t_ ,” he hisses, watching the television.

Dani hides a giggle behind her hand. “He _did_ ,” she says gleefully.

Susana spluttered through the champagne dowsing she’d enjoyed courtesy of Guerez and her team mate, on the podium with her. The mics don’t pick it up, but Dani’s sure she sees her daughter’s lips form the words, ‘you _bastard_ ,’ before returning the favour.

She’s smiling. Dani recognises that smile; it’s the ‘why am I smiling at you, arsehole?’ smile she’s surprised Marc doesn’t recognise as well, for all the times it’s been levelled at him.

The man in question has his laptop out and is busy booking flight tickets to Indianapolis.

“She won’t thank you,” Dani says seriously. “She said she doesn’t want us hovering over her at every race.”

“Maybe I’m missing my eldest daughter; I haven’t seen her in person for two months.”

“That’s only going to work if you don’t take a side trip to have a little talk with a certain other racer.”

Marc scowls, halts his e-purchase, and brings up Wikipedia instead. “Fine. I’ll stalk him a little, first.” His hands freeze on the keyboard and he looks up, eyes wide. “When did _you_ become the reasonable one here?”

Roser is going to _love_ this. Actually, both of their parents are going to find this _hilarious_ , and Alex will never let Marc live this down. She makes a note to send him a text when Marc’s out of the room.

“I’ve always been the reasonable one, Marc; we women just let our husbands dwell in blissful ignorance.” She winks, and adds, “It could be that you haven’t taken your wife on a nice, relaxing holiday in over a year.” She bats her eyelashes outrageously. “I haven’t been to America since I retired, you know. Gracia would love to see it.”

Marc flashes her a grin, and kisses her. “Because panicking over their child’s possible, recklessness-induced injuries is a relaxing holiday for any mother.”

Dani shrugs. “Book the tickets. I’ll let Susa know so she can pretend it’s a nice surprise.”

-*-

_You doing anything in two weeks’ time?_

_Is that a question or a prompt for something I’ve forgotten?_

_Honest question. With a hint of glee._

_What’s going on, Dani?_

_Marc’s going to kill this poor Moto2 kid. It’s going to be hilarious._

_And you’re not worried that he’s stomping on your territory? This I have to see… Why?_

_Because it’s **going to be hilarious**_ **.**

_No, why’s he going to kill this poor kid? Who? Why do I have to see it?_

_Lucas Guerez. He and Susa are fighting the championship out this year; he’s driving her up the wall. Just like Marc used to me._

_Okay… Oh **shit** , this is going to be fucking **brilliant**_ **.**

_I’ll see you there!_

_I demand my avuncular rights. I’m going to make this kid’s life Hell._

_You’d better ;)_

-*-

“What are _you_ doing here?” Susana glares at them.

“Nice one, honey,” Dani drawls, “The flight was good; we’re fine, nice to hear you’re doing fine, too.”

With a lifetime’s worth of practice, Susana ignores her. Dani sympathises with her mother _entirely too much_ , and can’t really blame her.

Marc gives his daughter a sheepish hug. “Surprise?”

Susana accepts the hug; there’s a big part of her that likes seeing her family and having them cheer her on from the garage. Gracia steals her own hug; Susa laughs, and ruffles the short hair their mother eternally despairs of. “You’re here too! Shouldn’t you be in school, young lady?”

“I’ll learn the important bits here!” Gracia pouts, ducking away from her sister’s hands. “Who needs history to race bikes, anyway? And it’s summer; you aren’t old enough to forget that, surely?”

“I’m only five years older than you, brat.”

“Five and a half, actually. You sure _you_ don’t need to be back in school?”

“Were you always this rude?” She smiles at her parents. “Was she always this rude?”

“Blame your father,” Dani says, at the same time as Marc snorting and saying, “It’s your mother’s influence.”

The siblings share a _long_ look, one that says _everything_. “We were always doomed,” Susana concludes drily. She squints back at her parents. “No, seriously, why are you here?”

Dani wisely keeps silent. This was all Marc’s idea, anyway.

“We haven’t seen you since your birthday!” Marc explains earnestly. “We wanted to be here in person when you’re doing so well in the championship!”

The women glance at each other quickly. Marc glances at Dani. Dani smiles sweetly back at him.

“How much did you tell her?” Marc has a bad feeling about this. He’s felt it on and off for roughly thirteen years; that feeling most men get when they suddenly realise they’ll be living in a house with three other women.

That feeling that begs the question, ‘how deeply have I just put myself in it?’

“Just the contents of your internet browsing history,” Dani smiles that sweet, _sweet_ smile, the one that means one of two things: either she’s pregnant, or she knows she’s done something completely _horrible_. He’s banking on the latter; nothing else has pinged his senses for the former.

“Dani!” He whines, he’s man enough to admit it.

“Dad!” Susana elbows him in the side. “Don’t you dare go and talk to that- that utter prat! There is nothing like what you two are thinking of to talk about!”

“You mean you don’t have a boyfriend?” Gracia pipes up, “I was so excited for you! I want to meet him, is he cute?”

“ _There is no boyfriend!_ ” Susana exclaims, in the exact tone Dani imagines somebody once said, ‘ _there is no iceberg_ ’- spelling denial and horror between the lines.

“Awww, really? That was the only reason we came.”

Marc splutters out, “ _Gracia_! Subtlety; we talked about this, remember?” as Dani pats her youngest on the shoulder. “Give it a year,” she estimates. “Maybe two, if Susa’s as dense as me about it.”

“Mum!”

“Yes, honey?”

The smile is prettier when it isn’t directed at him, Marc thinks.

“There is no boyfriend. There is nothing to talk about. There is no-”

“Denial?” Dani cuts in lightly. “We’ll see.”                 

Marc and Gracia are _howling_ ; Susana gives it all up as a bad job and shakes her hands of them. “I’m needed at the garage,” she bites out.

“Sécret rendezvous?”                                       

“Non; n’est pas amusant, ma mère.” Two can play this game; Susa grew up in Switzerland. “Le Français; pourquoi?”

“It’s the language of love, honey. Spanish is the language of sex, so for the love of God I will not hear you say anything to him in that.”

“We’re both Spanish,” Susana protests, before the words catch up to her. Then-

“ _Mum!_ ” Susana blushes, and flees the room.

Dani rolls her eyes.

“She _blushed_?” Marc gapes. “I’m _definitely_ talking to him.”

“It was rather incriminating, wasn’t it?”

Gracia all but cries with laughter. “She _totally_ has a boyfriend!”

-*-                                                  

Susana has never _seriously_ considered murder until her sister spots her rival strolling past the garage.

“He _is_ cute!” Gracia yells. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

Lucas turns; Susana feels no shame as she ducks and hides behind the privacy screen. She yanks Gracia down too, and puts a hand over her mouth before the brat can say anything _worse_.

(Because anything worse might just be true, too, and Susana doesn’t think she can handle that from a thirteen year old who is also her younger sister.)

-*-

Marc sizes up his prey, who is staring at him, slightly dazed after being dragged into a shadowed corner.

“Do you know who I am?”

Guerez coughs, trying to clear the awe from his voice. “You’re Marc Marquez-”

“Wrong!” Marc takes _exactly_ the right amount of pleasure from the gulp Guerez fails to hide, no matter what better people might argue. “I’m Susana Marquez’s father.”

The kid holds out his hands. “Look, if this is about the last race, it was just a little touch, okay? She was fine, the bike was fine-”

“There was touching?” Marc’s voice is dangerously quiet. His prey backpedals hurriedly.

“We were racing! And she’s _your_ daughter,” Lucas hastily swallows and amends his tone, “ _Sir_ , so I don’t think you can object to a bit of physical passing, especially since the little- _girl-_ ”

(Lucas likes living; he quickly bit off the word he originally planned to say.)

“-damn near nudged me off the track when she took the place back!”

Marc eyes him a little longer, then lets out a dark laugh. “That wasn’t actually what I was going to talk to you about,” he says.

Guerez is, _somehow_ , not overly relieved at those words. “No?” He asks cautiously.

“No. What I wanted to talk about was a little case of appropriate celebrations on a podium, and where kids should _not_ let their eyes wander to if they want to be able celebrate another one…”

Lucas starts shaking.

-*-                                                                        

“I see you’ve already spoken to Marc, then.”

Lucas looks up from the bar, and thunks his head back down on it. “Not another one,” he moans into the wood. “Is there a convention in town?”

Alex smirks at him, and claps him on the shoulder. “Walk it off, kid. Let me buy you a drink; what’s your poison?”

“Anything. Everything,” the Moto2 rider replies miserably. “What do you want?”

“A little talk about a girl who is rather special to me. A niece of mine, in fact.”

“I’ve already had this conversation, remember?” Lucas downs his drink, hoping to forget that terrible fact.

“A little girl who is _so_ special, she’s worth having this conversation twice over.”

“It’s just a little crush, alright!” Lucas is horrified by the words coming out of his mouth. “She hates me too much for it to be anything else!” He seeks refuge in the drink Alex bought for him.

“So you aren’t serious?” Alex always had the reputation of being the easy-going Marquez; less highly strung and excitable than his older brother.

It’s all lies, as far as Lucas can see. Alex is frowning, and his eyes are dark. He’s honest, though, he’s asked himself this same question every time he’s felt something as he’s stared at his rival.

“How can I ever know that if I don’t have a chance to find out?”

Alex hums, and flags down the bartender for another round. “Good answer, kid. I won’t be hiding a body this weekend, at least.”

Lucas spits his mouthful of beer back onto the bar.

-*-

“No.” Guerez sees her coming, and holds up both his hands in surrender. “No, no, no, no, no!”

“You’ve spoken to my husband, then?”

“And your brother-in-law,” Lucas retorts waspishly. “I’m well aware of the trouble I’m apparently in.”

Dani shakes her head. “Nah, not really. Or you’d’ve done something about it by now.”

“Excuse me?”                                 

Dani Pedrosa de Marquez, he remembers suddenly, is the one who actually had a reputation for threatening, and getting away with murder. He’s abruptly scared this might be literal, rather than a figure of speech.

“She’s my daughter. If it is, as you delightfully put it, a _crush_ that you have on her, she’s never going to notice. All she’s going to see is the arsehole that fights her for the championship, because you aren’t even _friends_ to let her find anything else.”

Lucas winces. “Christ, you’re blunt, ma’am.”

She quirks a grin. “I’ve been called worse. The big question now is, are you going to step up, or wallow in your misery?”

“I’m not _miserable_ without her. Just- curious,” he says defensively.

Dani arches an eyebrow. “Is that really the way you want to say this to me?”

“Not in a toying way!” he clarifies. “More a- she seems nice, when she isn’t talking to me, way. Someone interesting.” He blushes at her expression.

“She’s your rival.”

“On the track,” he looks at her incredulously. “You raced against your husband for five years, and you don’t believe on track/off track distinctions?”

“It was more like a long, ongoing bet,” Dani laughs at his horrified stare. “But yes, I’m glad you see it that way, too. Susana doesn’t, as it stands. She _won’t_ , not without a damn good reason to do so. She’s had to work too hard to be seen as a racer on her own merits; she’s possibly more defensive than _I_ was, at her age.”

Lucas slowly uncoils himself from the defensive pose he’d curled up in to. “You aren’t- threatening me? You’re _encouraging_ me?”

“Marc,” is her short answer. When the kid goes pale, she shrugs and explains a bit more. “It’s not that serious, I know. And he was probably a bigger idiot over it than you’re being. But- it’s similar enough to be hilariously close to home.” She smirks at him. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Lucas says sourly, escaping from the conversation.

-*-

_Indianapolis post race press conference excerpts:_

Q: Lucas! After three wins from your rival, it must be great to step back onto the top of the podium again!

A: **laughs** Yeah, it’s a great feeling, and of course it’s great to take points out of Susana’s championship lead at last. I was beginning to feel like I’d never catch up!

Q: You looked completely at home on the bike during the race today, for most of the sessions you’ve been fighting for the top spot. Is Indy somewhere you’re particularly comfortable?

A: Indy’s a fun track! It’s a bit different from the rest of the calendar; it’s got more unique quirks than a lot of places because of the other races they host during the year. I had great feeling with the bike, my team worked brilliantly with me all weekend, tweaking the settings after every run until we found the best balance to race with.

Q: So you aren’t afraid to admit it’s a long, hard slog to making a win look so easy?

A: Not sure how easy it looked- I swear I heard a Honda engine getting louder behind me every lap! I was in constant fear that my pit board would say she’d got the gap down to less than a second and was right in my slipstream! But yeah, it’s hard work. Anybody who tells you otherwise is lying through their teeth. This weekend in particular posed some… unique difficulties **more laughter** but I got the win I needed and only nineteen points now to go- the rest of the season is still very much alive guys!

Q: Thanks, Lucas. Congratulations again on your win.

A: Thanks!

Q: Susana, were there any unique problems you faced to get your second place this weekend?

A: They aren’t really that unique.

Q: Oh?             

A: I’m sure _everyone_ has problems with their family.

**Long silence.**

-*-

“I’m sensing this may have come in four years too late,” Dani admits, “But I’m going to tell you something Alberto told me when I started racing 125s: interviews are a necessary evil. Doing bad interviews will only create more of them.”

Susana looks at her blankly. “What?”

-*-

“I dropped it,” Susana says miserably, sounding close to tears on the phone. “I _dropped_ it, mum. I’ve lost the championship, haven’t I?”

“Susa, listen to me,” Dani makes her voice as soothing as possible. “You aren’t hurt from the crash?”

“No.”         

“You’ll still be racing at Japan next week?”

“Yes.”            

“Your bike will be all fixed up and ready to go with its rider?”

“ _Her_ rider mum, I told you this already. The bike’s definitely a her.”

Dani grins; Susa can’t be feeling _too_ terrible. “Then so what? Guerez pulled sixteen points on you from third. You owe first and second a drink, if you ask me. It’s your first DNF of the season; this isn’t irreparable damage.”

“I’ll buy them a bar each if I win this championship still,” Susana mutters. “There’s only- hang on, that was the door. I’ll just tell whoever it is to bugger off; be right back.”

 _Her daughter, honestly_. There’s a _thud_ Susana places the phone on a hard surface. To Dani’s bemusement, the next things she hears are a muffled screech, and a door slamming.

“ _Mum_! It was _him_!”

Dani furiously bites back her laugh. “And you slammed the door in his face?”

“No, first I told him to take his well wishes and shove them up his arse-”

“You _didn’t_?”                                      

“’Course I bloody did, the smug prat. He’s nine points ahead of me now; he’s rubbing it in at every opportunity he gets.”

“Susana.” Using her full name makes her daughter quiet. “Knocking on your door at- is it seven, over there- is not the action of somebody wanting to rub in the championship scores; there’s not enough of an audience. That’s what somebody does because they’re politely enquiring if you’re alright.”

“But- it’s _Lucas_ , mum! He’s an arsehole!”

“Is he?” Dani puts every one of her doubts into her voice. “Because he said to me that you seemed like a nice person, whenever you weren’t talking to him.”

“… You too? Mum, I thought you would understand! Why aren’t you on my side?”

“I _am_ on your side, Susa. But you should see both sides of the argument rather than being blind to one.”

“I don’t want a boyfriend,” Susana mutters stubbornly. Dani huffs, because the words reveal that her daughter actually _has_ been thinking about it.

“You can just be friends with him, you know? Girls and boys are allowed to be friends.”

“I’ll think about it,” Susana says, so glibly Dani reckons she’s lost this one. “Talk to you soon, mum.”

“Take care-”

The dial tone starts droning.

-*-

Susana pauses, seeing the dark head of hair a few metres in front of her. Already kicking herself, she jogs the last few steps and taps the prat on the shoulders.

Lucas stares at her, honestly surprised by her approach.

“Look, I was a bit of a bitch last week,” Susana mumbles. “So thank you for thinking to ask after me, and sorry for slamming the door in your face. I wasn’t in the best mood.”

He takes in her expression, and risks a grin. “See, you saying it like that makes me wonder if you don’t realise how much of a bitch you are at all other times, too.”

Susana’s jaw drops.

“Joking!” He holds up his hands. “Don’t hit me; I’m joking.”

“I’m laughing on the inside,” Susana manages, slowly getting over the idea that he has a sense of humour she can actually appreciate.

“Thanks,” he shuffles his feet, ducking his head, “For the apology. You know. Glad you’re alright, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Susana echoes, “And welcome.” Is she blushing? Her cheeks feel hot. Oh God.

She shoulder-checks him as she pushes past, away from the awkwardness, and hears him laugh behind her.

It’s… nice, to think she made him laugh.

 _Bugger_.

-*-

“Come on,” Susana taps her foot impatiently. “Come on, pick up the phone…”

It connects. “’Lo?” The person tiredly asks.

“Uncle Jorge!”

It takes a few seconds to process. _“Susa_? Are you alright?”

“I need to ask you a question.”

She hears shifting fabrics. What time is it in Spain? Has she gotten him out of bed?

“Give me a minute; it’s barely dawn here. I’m putting on the coffee.”

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

“It’s no problem, not for you.” There’s some distant taps and clicks, then his voice is back. “What’s wrong then, Susa?”

“How did you and mum go from rivals to good friends to being the honouree uncle to her children?”

Jorge breathes in sharply, audibly, over the line. “I’m not sure you’re old enough for this story, Susa.”

“I’m nineteen!” She protests crossly.

“And I’m still not sure it’s a story you should be hearing. What does that tell you about it?”

Susana bites her lip. “That bad?”

She can _hear_ him nod. “That bad.”

“Well… maybe the short version?” she begs, hoping _anything_ might help her.

He sighs heavily. “Right, cliff notes it is: I thought she was a stuck up bitch who was a danger on a big bike and shouldn’t be there no matter how skilled she might be; she thought I was a cocky arsehole who hated the thought of being beaten by a girl and had more pride and bluster than talent.” He chuckles; the contrast with the words startles Susana. “We were both right, in a way. We had a big fight and ended up- coming to an understanding. Only after that could we become anything like friends, and there was a couple of times we nearly fucked that up, too.”

Susa had had _no_ idea it was ever that bad… “How did I never know about this?” She’d known they didn’t like each other, but the way her uncle was saying it-

“You never asked,” he replies simply. “Hopefully, Gracia never will. Your mum will probably stop talking to me for a while for telling you this much.”

“I’m not going to tell her!” Susana denies the implied accusation hotly. “How can you think-”

“It’s Dani. She’ll know.”

Damn it, he’s right. “Point. Try growing up with it.”

“I don’t need more nightmares, thanks.”

“I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” Susana apologises through the words.

“It’s history, Susa. It’s fairly old history, now; we honestly don’t dwell on it that much. Did it help, at all?”

She thinks about it. “I’m not really sure. It doesn’t sound like me and this guy hate each other like you two used to.”

“Is ‘this guy’ Lucas Guerez, by any chance?” He’s chuckling again.

She bolts upright. “Who told you?”

He laughs. “Nobody. But I watch most of your races, Susa; I’ve got eyes. And you’re right, you don’t dislike each other like Dani and I used to. Hell, I don’t think he _dislikes_ you at all.”

“Stop winking at me, uncle Jorge.” It’s one of those things she doesn’t need to see to _know_ he’s doing it.

“Guilty as charged.”

Susana hums. “I was a bit of a bitch to him-” she pauses to let her uncle get out the obligatory- ‘you? _Never_!’- that she also knew was coming, “And when I apologised, we just ending up being awkward. He made a stupid joke, I was sarcastic, and nothing went to plan.”

“There you go. It’s people, Susa; things never go to plan.” There’s a wealth of humour in his voice. “If you ever need proof of that, ask your dad.” He waits for her to take in the words. “Did he accept the apology?”

“What? Yes, why?” What does that have to do with anything?

“Then you’re already doing better than Dani and I in our first year of ‘friendship’. It took me years before I could say ‘sorry’ to her, without wincing, and mean it.”

“Huh. You know, I think this is helping a bit,” Susana says thoughtfully. “Thanks, uncle. Sorry about waking you up.”

“No problem. You know I get a beautiful view of the sun rising over a shitty, city landscape.” They laugh together, “See you later, Susa. Keep fighting for this championship, I know you can do it!”

“Thanks, uncle.” She whispers, a lump rising in her throat at the heartfelt words. “I’ll try. See you later.”

-*-

“Four points, Guerez,” Susana says as they walk away from the podium. She hefts her winner’s trophy to the other arm, making a show of it.

Yes, she’s one of those people. She doesn’t care what it says about her.

“With only Malaysia and Valencia to go,” he winks at her, and tugs on one of her braids. “Scared, princess?”

She stops walking. It takes him another couple of steps to realise. “Did you _really_ just pull my pigtail?”

Lucas grins at her. He has dimples. She wishes she could unknow this fact. “You’ve never had your pigtails pulled before?”

Self-consciously, she flips them back over her shoulders. “No. Why?” What is she missing here?

He shakes his head. “You’re something else, Marquez.”

“Seriously, why?” She isn’t letting this go.

“Never mind. Ask me again after Valencia.” No matter the results in Sepang, this championship battle’s going the full season distance. It’s even been fun, most of the time. “Will your family be there?”

Susana blinks. “Yes, why?”

He tugs on her braid again. Irritably, she rescues it and elbows him as they restart walking. “Just making- friendly conversation.” He gasps as her blow connects halfway through the sentence.

She hums, feigning innocence to his glare. “You actually want to be friends, then?”

Lucas cocks his head, studying her. “It’s scary that you honestly sound surprised by that.” His frown eases into a smile. “Yes, Marquez, I actually want to be friends with you. I’ve heard a rumour that racing can be even more fun, that way.”

Susana swallows, and takes a flying leap into situations unknown. Sure, she’s been friendly with the guys before. She’s even gone out with a few of them during the off-season, or after PR events. It’s never been an explicitly stated agreement, though. It seems more serious than it is. It can’t be that serious, surely?

“It’s Susana, then. Well,” she gives him a small smile in return. “My friends tend to call me Susa. Lucas?”

His dimples are showing again. It’s a terrible blow to her sanity, this knowledge. “You’re getting the hang of it, now. Yes?”

“I’m _so_ going to kick your arse in Sepang.”

He’s startled into full blown laughter by the change of topic.

Susana grins.

-*-

Susana jumps off the bike and pitches herself over the barrier and into the arms of her team. Her family. Everyone’s there, everyone’s patting her back, her helmet, yelling and screaming and her dad’s crying like he did after she won her Moto3 title and it’s so _brilliant_ -

She’s set back down on her feet, gently, and given room to take off her gear and _breathe_. She feels like she can’t get enough air in her lungs, her cheeks are aching from all the smiling-

And then there’s a tug on her braids. She turns, still grinning, knowing who it’s going to be.

Lucas is grinning at her, though she can see the disappointment in his eyes. The funny thing is, she didn’t even win the race; they came in second and third, and after her win in Sepang (eleven seconds; she totally _did_ kick his arse there) she only had to stay ahead of him today. She was riding more defensively than she ever had in her career so far; she couldn’t afford to push for the win and risk losing her second place, or worse, her bike, with him right behind her.

“Congrats, Susa.” He tugs her braid again, and leaves her to her celebrations.

“Thanks!” she belatedly calls after him, turning back to her family.

“Oh, Susa,” her mother sighs, and Susana wonders if she’s going to start crying, too, “Haven’t I ever told you what it means when a boy pulls a girl’s pigtails?”

Susana narrows her eyes. “We’re friends,” she explains. “Friends tease each other.”

“I’m going to kill him,” her father says, and _what_?

“Isn’t that mum’s thing?” she asks.

Dani snickers. “It’s a father’s prerogative. And congratulations, Susana. I’m _so_ proud of you right now.” She hugs her daughter over the barrier, and whispers in her ear when they’re cheek to cheek. “A boy tugs the hair of the girl he thinks is the prettiest one in class. It’s a childish trick, but even negative attention is something, right?”

Susana draws back, eyes wide. “You mean- you weren’t joking? Since Indy, you’ve been teasing me over this, and _you weren’t joking_? He said he wanted to be friends!”

It’s _totally_ not fair that they’re laying this on her when she’s just won her championship. “I’m not thinking about this,” she says stubbornly. “I’m going up on that podium, I’m taking my trophy, and I’m not thinking about this until the hangover from my celebrations has receded into distant memory.”

Dani pats her cheek, looking simultaneously happy for her and amused _by_ her. “You deserve it, honey. Enjoy yourself up there!”

“I plan to.” The moment catches up to her again; she’s smiling widely when the heavy weight of the Moto2 Championship trophy is put into her arms. She hefts it, and fancies she can pick her parents’ cheers out of the multitudinous roar of the crowd.

She looks to her left, because she is _not thinking about it_ , but she _has_ to.

Lucas is smiling at her, and there’s no disappointment to be seen, this time. He’s completely happy, staring at her success. _Well done_ , he mouths.

She laughs giddily. _Thanks_.

-*-

She’s steady on her feet despite not remembering exactly what’s gone down her throat so far this evening; it’s an achievement possibly greater than the one they’re all celebrating. With alcohol fuelling her brain, she grabs Lucas during a lull in the gratuitously awful dancing and pulls him aside.

“You’re pulling my pigtails,” she states.

Lucas has had a bit to drink as well, if the flush on his cheeks is anything to judge by. “And?” He looks confused.

“You’re _pulling_ my _pigtails_ ,” Susana emphasises, and she sees the moment the penny drops. He blinks, crosses his arms and stares her down.

“So what of it?” He’s _daring_ her to make an issue of it.

“You said you wanted to be friends, you bastard.” It isn’t the alcohol making her swear, and they both know it.

“So I could see if it was worth the wanting anything more,” he says softly. “Susa-”

“Even after today?” She presses, cutting him off. “Even after I beat you?”

“It’s not a competition!” He argues with her, eyes glinting in the club’s lighting.

Susana’s had a reasonable amount to drink tonight. She’s not slurring, and she’s steady on her feet, but there’s enough fire in her veins to make leaning up and pecking him on the cheek seem like a reasonable idea.

He blinks at her as she settles back down on her heels.

She blinks back.

_A stupid, brilliant idea._

“But I’m winning?” She breaks down in laughter, and he does too, because it’s ridiculous, this thing between the two of them.

“I’ll get you next year,” he promises, gasping for air.

“Counting on it,” she gasps back.

It’s going to be _so much fun_.


	9. Never Been Any Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Well I've been walking behind you/ since you've been able to see/ There's never been any reason/ for you to think about me.'
> 
> Marc and Dani snippets from the 2013 season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mariam, who specifically requested more flashback bits. Hope this is something like what you wanted :D
> 
> Chapter title and summary lyrics from Head East- Never Been Any Reason. It's one of my favourite songs. 
> 
> And guys, guys GUYS, I am going to Silverstone in a couple of days. I am *so* excited. I am also, obviously, not taking my laptop, so it might be a week or so until I update/upload anything again XDDD
> 
> Enjoi.

_Qatar, 2013._

“Your first MotoGP race. How are you feeling?”

Marc drops his gloves at the unexpected question. He spins around, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him.

He _had_ recognised the voice correctly. “Dani!”

She laughs at his flustered expression. “Nervous, then? You seem a bit out of sorts.”

He _hadn’t_ been until she spoke to him. “I’ll be right behind you going into the first corner.” He injects as much confidence into his voice as he can manage. “Don’t think it’s only the Yamahas you have to watch out for!”

She affects arrogance. It’s a cute look on her. Marc needs to stop thinking like this before his first MotoGP race. “You aren’t going to catch me off the starting line.”

Their eyes meet, and the aloof coolness disappears. “Good luck, Marc,” she says more seriously.

“Thanks!” he chirps in reply. They exchange one last smile before Dani returns to her side of the garage, slotting easily between two of her mechanics and pointing to something at the front of her bike.

Her togetherness, the way he noticed during their testing sessions that she knows exactly what is going on with her bike, what setting the mechanics are tweaking and how it’s going to affect her on the track, is one of the things he really admires about her. He hopes he can be half as good as she is with the 1000cc engine this year.

He watches her leave with for the grid, stare only broken by an amused cough behind him. Santi steps up next to him, grinning tolerantly. “Head in the game, Marquez,” he says to his rider.

Marc nods, and puts Dani out of mind as anything other than his team mate and rival.

-*-

_Austin, 2013._

Marc’s grinning like the proverbial cat who ate the canary, killed the dog and who is enjoying a proper grooming session with a human who knows _exactly_ what the punishment would be should they stop brushing anytime soon.

So to speak.

He launches himself into the arms of his team; they give him enough bruises that he could probably sue them for abuse in the workplace and stand a good chance of a large settlement.

He’s thinking so much because he can’t take it in; he’s scored two for two on podiums in his fledgling MotoGP career, and this one-

-he _won_. It’s identical and unrecognisable to how he felt in Moto2 last year. He’s won his first MotoGP race from his second start. It’s heady; his thoughts are running away from him-

“Well done!”

Marc blinks. Dani claps him on the shoulder, smiling ruefully with her second place. “Well done, Marc,” she says again, when he just stands there staring off into space.

His eyes focus on her. “Yeah… thanks!” He gets his head back to the rest of the world, and beams at her.

“I _knew_ I’d have to watch out for you this year,” Dani can’t help but add. “But- honestly- that was amazing, Marc. Well done.” She couldn’t say anything else. He was riding around a brand new circuit like it was an old favourite, one he’d grown up next to and learned the ins and outs of as a child. She dreads to think what he’s going to do at Catalunya.

Marc hopes he isn’t blushing (too much). “You’re- genuinely happy for me,” he realises, “Even though I beat you.”

Dani’s philosophical about it. “Nobody can win everything,” she grins at him. “Just remember that when you’re congratulating me next time out! And of _course_ I’m happy for you; it’s your first win! You don’t seem excited at all.” She frowns slightly, touching his elbow. “Are you alright, Marc?”

It’s like a shroud has been ripped from his eyes. Suddenly the world is back in colour, sharp and bright and he’s just won his _first_ race in MotoGP and Dani’s happy for him-

-and it’s _brilliant_.

“I am brilliant,” he answers her. He’s never sounded more certain of anything in his life.

Dani snorts. “Modest too, I see.” She glances around him at the reporters waiting for their interviews. “If _only_ they’d got that on camera.”

“Careful.” Marc watches his hand move like it’s separated from the rest of his body, a part he doesn’t control. It taps her on the cheek. “They might see you smiling, too.”

She ducks away from the touch. “You’re terrible for my reputation, Marquez.” She flicks his ear in retaliation. “Go on, give your interviews and amaze them with your witty replies.”

(By chance, a reporter _did_ overhear the latter part of the conversation. He suffered a coughing fit at the implications, before dismissing it as a bad choice of wording, something he was twisting out of proportion. _Terrible for my reputation_. He scoffed internally. Pedrosa’s reputation painted her colder than the Arctic circle (any other reputation was non-existent, much to the paparazzi world’s disgust); it was strange to see her acting like this, but… there was no real story. ‘Pedrosa acts like a normal human’ was not a headline to beat ‘Marc Marquez wins the second race of the season’.

He kicked himself to that Arctic circle and back roughly fifteen months later for his short-sightedness.)

“You too,” Marc tries not to lean into her touch, light as it is. “Stun them with your smile, Dani.”

“You!” She laughs, and shoves him at the nearest microphone.

He wasn’t joking.

-*-

 _Jerez, 2013_.

Marc can’t breathe. He has a good excuse for this.

There’s five foot one of team mate, who has just winded him by slapping him on the back, now hugging him in joy. He doesn’t _dare_ breathe for fear she’ll let him go.

He also has no clue what to do with his hands. He’d love to card one through her crazy helmet hair and put the other on her hip, hold her gently, intimately, against him, but just accepting the hug in the first place is a liberty he never thought he’d be granted.

He settles them on her shoulders, and pats her awkwardly a few times. “You’re in a good mood, then,” he states the obvious as she draws back, smiling widely.

“We’re brilliant.” She replies simply. “And I beat you,” she cheekily adds, with a wink.

“Nobody can win everything,” he recites, even as he imprints that image onto his long-term memory.

Dani’s expression morphs into one of surprise. “You remember that?”

Marc tries to play it off. “It was two weeks ago,” he shrugs. “And it was good advice. Besides which, you had a blinder of a race, you tease.” It just slipped in, okay? “Close enough to be in sight and never close enough to actually get a wheel in.”

His team mate, of course, is deaf to the undertones. “Just enough to keep you hoping for that pass.” Dani’s tugged aside; the marshals are gesturing at the fences. “Duty calls,” she rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically. “And I must answer, damn it.”

Marc steals one last glance as he lines up for his own first interview. _Just enough to keep you hoping_. He smiles and starts answering the questions on autopilot, one eye always on Dani, halfway across the enclosure. Her answers are much shorter; she’s getting through reporters quickly, but nobody comments on it to her face after twelve years of the same treatment.

 _Tease_. He winces internally. _Stupid feelings._

-*-

_Germany, 2013._

Marc shifts nervously from foot to foot, and knocks on the door. Dani answers promptly enough, but her gaze is ever so slightly bleary. Was she asleep?

“You alright?” Marc asks her, jumping the ‘what are you doing here?’ gun.

“Marc?”

“The one and only,” he grins at her _no, really_? frown.

Dani winces, and shuts her eyes. “I had the sudden vision of you with an identical twin,” she explains, “And the world in ruins around you.”

Marc snorts. “We wouldn’t destroy the world, Dani,” he says condescendingly, “We’d _rule_ it.”

“ _That_ ,” Dani measures out the words carefully, “Is terrifyingly plausible.”

The conversation peters out. Marc shifts again, drawing her attention to the box in his hand. He wishes now he’d thrown it away before visiting her. It’s a stupid gesture, but she’d had that crash in practice, then she’d been ruled out of the race, and well, chocolate was meant to make everything better, right?

“What,” Dani’s voice is flat, “Is that?”

Marc sheepishly hands the ill-thought gift over. “Chocolate is meant to help?” He shrinks under her unimpressed stare.

“You’re one of those bastards, aren’t you?”

The question comes out of _nowhere_ ; Marc wonders if he’s misheard her. “What?” He asks, uncomprehending.

“You can eat whatever you like and never worry about gaining a kilogram.” She’s still _staring_ at him. “I should hate you on principle.”

He _thinks_ she’s joking, but he doesn’t want Dani to hate him for any reason. “I’m lost,” he admits.

Her hand twitches. “You’ve _never_ had to think, oh, maybe I shouldn’t eat that, my leathers won’t fit in the morning? Or, I’m going to be in the gym for _hours_ working that cake off?”

Marc says the stupidest words of his life to date. “Is this a girl thing? I thought girls _liked_ chocolate.”

Dani nearly throws the chocolates back at him. “It’s my deepest fear. Don’t mock me.”

“ _What_ is?” She isn’t making anything clearer.

“I’m going to wake up one morning, and be unable to get my riding suit over my hips,” Dani grumbles. “You are going to _ruin_ my figure, Marquez.”

Marc wisely keeps his eyes on her face. Wiser still, he doesn’t reply.

“But,” Dani _finally_ smiles at him. “Thank you. It’s sweet of you to care.”

“You’re welcome,” Marc replies, biting back the instinctive, ‘I _do,_ you oblivious woman’ he desperately wanted to say instead.

-*-

_Summer, 2013._

“No.”

“Daniela-” Alberto sighs, rubbing his brow tiredly. It’s Marc’s first time meeting the infamous advisor, and he’s mostly feeling sorry for the man. He’s finding it completely hilarious, to be brutally honest, but there is some sympathy too.

Daniela Pedrosa is _not_ happy with their latest PR gig.

“I am _not_ riding bitch on the bike just because I’m the girl,” she says hotly. “Why can’t there be two bikes? If I was a man, there would be two bikes.”

“If you were a man, Daniela, there would be a different target demographic,” Alberto snaps back. “And yes, there would probably be two bikes, because we would be advertising a mates’ race rather than a couples’ ride.”

 _Wait, what?_ Marc coughs suddenly. He probably should have read their brief more closely. “ _Couples’_ ride?” He squeaks, carefully _not_ looking at Dani. “As in, romantic sunset aren’t-they-cute-together ride? _What_?”

Marc will deny to his dying day ever actually having thought about this scenario. With Dani. (He was sixteen, for the record, and crushing harder than a metal compactor.)

“See!” Dani waves a hand at him. “Marc agrees! He shouldn’t have to do this just because he landed the only female MotoGP rider as a team mate! It’s unfair to ask this of him!”

“And if I thought for a minute that was your first and foremost objection, I might consider it,” Alberto says darkly. “But this is how it’s going to go. This is how it _always_ goes, Daniela. You have been told what is expected of you. You are complaining and making a whiny fool out of yourself in front of the camera crew and, I add, your team mate. And none of this is going to change the fact that _you are going to do it_.”

Dani glares at him. Marc’s never seen this side of her before; a display of serious, deep distaste for the task ahead rather than a mocking facsimile of the same expression. He wants to help, and hits upon a possible solution.

“I- er- would it help if you drove, and I rode passenger?” He wonders aloud. “Would the PR team go for that, instead?”

Rider and advisor break their glare-off to stare at him, but it’s only one of them he’s looking at in return. Dani has the most peculiar look on her face.

“You wouldn’t mind?” She asks him.

Marc shakes his head. “If it would help..?”

“I mean, the whole scene. You don’t have a girlfriend who’s going to call me up and threaten me to keep my claws off you?”

Under the half-grin she shoots him is an honest strand of curiosity. Marc doesn’t let it get to him; she hasn’t asked about his personal life, nor volunteered much about her own in the half-season they’ve shared a garage. It’s probably nothing, the sudden interest. “No girlfriend,” he answers lightly.

Dani clicks her tongue. “Damn, that was going to be my last-ditch objection.”

 _Ouch_. _Not even real curiosity, then._

Alberto’s giving Marc a _look_ too, one he fails to interpret. “I’ll talk to the director,” he says slowly. “It _is_ a new direction for a motorcycle advert… challenging gender stereotypes… you’re certain you don’t mind?” He directs the question at Marc, raising his eyebrows.

Does Marc mind sitting behind Dani on a motorbike, arms around her (most likely, if they’re going for a couples’ context), feeling every move she makes in front of him?

Has a stupider question ever been asked? He tries not to show this opinion in his answer.

“It’s not like she’s going to crash it,” Marc points out. The men ignore Dani’s _hey!_.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the woman snipes, nudging Marc in the side. “I’ve only been driving bikes longer than you’ve been alive.”

“I trust you,” Marc says. Dani’s breath catches in her throat next to him.

“I’ll talk to the team,” Alberto’s got a pad of paper and a pen out, scrawling points on the note sheets. “This shouldn’t take long.”

“So you’ll take _his_ opinion on board?” Dani asks archly, recovered enough to talk to the other one, at least. “Is the target demographic here the Middle Ages?”

“He,” Alberto points the pen at Marc, “Is working with me. You,” he frowns at her, “Work against me. God knows why I put up with you, Daniela.”

“Because I pay you,” she retorts wryly. “And I pay well.”

“Hazard pay,” Alberto quips, leaving on the last word. Dani growls at his back.

“If you really object to it…” Marc trails off, because there’s nothing he can actually do. They’re both contractually obliged to these PR pieces, even when they don’t like them.

Dani sighs, tugging a short lock of hair away from her forehead. “It’s nothing personal. Well, actually, it is. I’m not an actress. Normally I turn up, spout some bullshit line about the product, and walk away feeling like an idiot but with everyone else satisfied. They’ve never asked me to act like this before.”

It’s both true and a complete falsehood at the same time. Dani fronts more for the cameras than any racer Marc’s seen, so much that it sometimes goes full circle and she fails to hide _anything_. Her interviews always go one of two ways; polished and practised, if abrupt, or so bluntly honest most of it doesn’t make it to air.

He decides not to question her on the claim.

“Why don’t we just have fun?” Marc attempts to lift her sour mood. “If you’re acting, it won’t even be _you_ the camera sees. It’s just a show, Dani. That’s all.” He goes one step further. “We could go for a drink later and have a good laugh over it.” He holds his breath for her answer, hoping it wasn’t too obvious.

Her answer is to ruffle his hair, and smirk. “You’ve got your ID on you, then?”

It’s clearly meant to be a joke. She doesn’t see anything untoward in saying something like that to him, because she doesn’t even realise how much he wants her to see him as her equal, rather than some kid she has to watch out for. Or _worse_ , a little brother.

He hides away how much it stings, and forces a smile. “I haven’t been ID’d in at least four months, I’ll have you know,” he says haughtily.

She doesn’t notice anything amiss; she smiles easily. “We’ll see. If this doesn’t go on too late- though if it takes too long, there’s going to be a point where I _need_ that drink, no matter the time. Or if I’m still driving.”

Marc pretends to worry. “I said you wouldn’t crash, remember? Don’t make me into a liar.”

Her surprised laugh is cut short by Alberto’s return.

“It’s a go; I think they’re relieved that something productive is going to be done today. Don’t scowl like that, Daniela; you _know_ it’s your fault. This is the first shoot we’ll be doing…”

(Two months later, Alex sends him a text.

_I wish Honda still used their ‘the power of dreams’ tagline. It would have been perfect for you; you used to dream about that sort of thing, right?_

What? _What?_

_The rumours are true; the camera **does** add ten kilos. You'll want to watch the sweets!_

Marc's only done one big PR piece recently. _This about the advert?_ Marc wracks his brains for anything else that could have prompted such a comment. Had it been aired, at last? Or had his brother been plumbing the depths of Youtube again?

 _What else? This stuff is **gold**_ , _Marc. Pure gold._

Did it even matter how he’d found the damn thing?

_You could try to sound a bit less amused. PR is all ahead of you, arsehole._

_Like you could have tried to look a bit less head over heels for her. If only your acting skills had been up to par when convincing mum I’d eaten the last cookie._

That doesn’t even deserve a response, Marc thinks sourly. He puts his phone on silent and ignores Alex for the rest of the week.)

-*-

 _Aragon, 2013_.

“Don’t talk to me,” Dani growls, and shuts the door.

Marc knocks again.

“Did you not hear me, Marquez? I _don’t_ want to talk to you right now.”

“I want to apologise!” Marc yells at the barrier. “I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t know I’d screw your bike up!”

“Dangerous driving!” Dani yells back. “Look it up!”

Marc’s frustrated. He’s sorry, he’s slightly embarrassed, and he’s increasingly annoyed by Dani’s pig-headed attitude to his genuine regret. “Don’t be a hypocrite, Dani, you’ve caused accidents too!”

He feels the blood drain from his face as the words leave his mouth. It’s true of every rider in the paddock, but it’s something that’s never said, never really acknowledged. And he’s gone and said it. To Dani. When she’s already mad at him.

He was _so_ angry at her in that moment, but now all he feels is shame.

Dani’s _seething_ as she reopens the door, eyes blazing at him. “There are racing incidents, Marquez, where you lose the bike for whatever reason and unfortunately take somebody down with you, and there are stupid, rookie passes that you should know better than to even _think_ of trying!”

“I _am_ a rookie!” He argues back, regaining his fight. He’s never been one for a passive response. “Or have you conveniently forgotten that this weekend?”

Dani opens her mouth, then shuts it with a _click_. She opens it again, but still fails to say something.

Marc blinks, incredulous. “Seriously? You forgot?”

She gets her words in order. “You don’t ride like a rookie. We can’t treat you like a rookie on track, or you’ll leave us in the dust. I… didn’t so much as forget, as, well,” she narrows her eyes, unapologetic; she _is not in the wrong here_ no matter what he believes, “I didn’t think it would come from _you_.”

“ _Me neither_ ,” Marc says emphatically. “It was an _accident_ , Dani, and I’m honestly, really, sorry. And thank you,” he belatedly adds, "For the compliment. I think.”

She shrugs, not giving an inch. “Don’t let it go to your head. You’re hot shit on a motorbike, Marquez, but you already knew that.”

He wishes she would start calling him _Marc_ again. “It’s different,” he wants them to just be _talking_ again, rather than yelling and hissing at each other, “ _Knowing_ you’re good at what you do, and hearing it from-” _you_ \- “Somebody else.” His heart is beating fast, has been since she said she acknowledged him as her equal on track. It’s one thing to think it himself; it’s something extraordinary to hear she thinks it, too.

She senses some of this, perhaps; her hardened, stony expression fades slightly. “Don’t look at me like that,” she grumbles, “I was going to stay mad at you for _weeks_.”

Marc pouts at her, seizing the opportunity. “I’m sorry,” he says in his most pathetic voice. “Forgive me?”

Dani puts her hands on her hips. “Fine,” she says. “Racing incident; we’ll draw a line under it and move on. Satisfied?”

 _Mostly. Just one more thing._ “Yeah,” he smiles softly. “Dani?”

She taps her foot. “Yes, Marc?”

 _And that’s it._ His smile widens. “Thanks for the compliment.”

Incredibly, she blushes. Marc is _fascinated_ by the pink tinge to her cheeks. “Don’t mention it,” she mutters, “Please?”

“What, that you’re capable of being nice?” The moment is stored carefully away in his memory, like so many other little incidents with her this season, both off camera and on. “Think that one’s out of the bag already, Ice Queen.”

She swats at him. Laughing, he ducks the half-hearted blow. “You are-”

“Terrible for your reputation?” He grins at her.

She grins back despite herself. “A cocky, arrogant little shit,” she finishes her sentence. “But God help me, for some reason, I like you.”

It’s more than he could have hoped for, hearing that. “Still friends then?” He checks, more to hear the words come out of her mouth than needing the reassurance.

“God help me,” she mutters again. “Yes, _friends_ , you soft touch. Do you want to come inside for hot chocolate and make matching bracelets?”

Marc’s cheeks are starting to hurt from the force of his grin.

“Wipe that stupid look off your face,” Dani says, stepping out of the doorway, “And come on in.”

-*-

_Geneva, New Year’s Eve, 2013._

Dani came to Geneva alone. She loves her country house, but some things, some days, are meant to be celebrated with people. She’s been pitched up in the Capital since yesterday, and doesn’t think she’s stopped smiling since she arrived with all the revelry in the air. She loves being just one more face in the crowd, one more person looking for a good time in the multitudes.

She sent all of the obligatory texts at sunset, so she can simply sit back and watch the fireworks over Lake Geneva, not needing to look away every thirty seconds and tap out a response. Jorge’s reply had been the funniest purely by its incomprehensibility. She’s guessing he’s spent most of the day drinking.

She’s nursing her own poisons, drifting in and out of groups of tourists and locals alike as watches begin to tick between the fifteen and ten minute mark. On a whim, she pulls out her phone to check the actual time.

Thirteen minutes to go. And… she has another message?

She doesn’t actually mean to open it; her gloved thumb slips on the screen so instead of locking it, the text comes up instead.

It’s from her team mate. Huh.

Dani’s wrapped up tight against the winter night’s chill, but reading his well-wishes (and knowing that from him of all people they were genuinely meant) makes her feel that extra bit warmer inside. She taps out an equally genuine reply, and hits send.

This last year with him hasn’t been as awful as she feared it would be. She might even say it’s been _fun_ , certain Spanish races notwithstanding. He’s easy to work with, surprisingly thoughtful when she’s in a mood, and inconceivably brilliant to race against.

It’s strange- there are some riders Dani knows she will think about when she’s older, and wonder how she ever had the nerve to challenge them, to beat them.

In just one year, Marc has put himself into another category altogether. Her team mate is unbelievable, and at a tender twenty years of age, he has his whole career still ahead of him. It’s frightening to think he’s only going to get better.

She means every word she sends him; she wants to race this kid and pit herself against him until she retires. It’s a new level of excitement on track, new heights to push herself to if she wants to beat him next year.

She can’t wait. She knows it’s going to be _brilliant._

Her heart pounds in her chest, and Dani never realises it started before the opening fireworks exploded into the sky.

 


End file.
